Angel of the Heart
by Eirian1
Summary: What do you do when the enemy you seek is your dearest friend and your only hope is to ally with the heart of evil itself? Sequel to Power Is, set approx 3 years later.
1. Things We Cannot Have

Angel of the Heart Eirian Normal Eirian 2 1368 2001-11-03T22:45:00Z 2001-11-03T22:45:00Z 1 3937 22447 Caer Duir 187 52 26332 10.2625 Clean Clean MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 st1:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} 

All the usual disclaimers apply.  I don't own most of the characters in this story, (You know who I mean) Stephen and the guys do, for which they has my utmost respect.  No copyright infringement is intended.  They could sue me if they really wanted to waste their time, because I have no money anyway.  It would be a much nicer idea to give me a contract to write for them.  I think I could manage that.  Meirionnydd I do own, as I do Jennifer Hamlyn and a few other original characters.  If you want to use any of them please talk to me first.  I can be reached at eirian.phillips@virgin.net 

Feedback is always welcome.

The characters and events in this story are purely fictitious (well, with the exception of WWII – more's the pity), and any similarity to anyone living, dead, undead or disincarnate, is purely coincidental.

Angel of the Heart Chapter 1 

_She looked at herself in the mirror, losing herself in the beauty of her reflection for a moment as she considered if she could be convincing enough to lure the man she loved into her arms and her bed._

_She sighed.  Her sister was always the more beautiful.  Brighter, softer, more full of life and light.  It was little wonder that his favour had fallen in her direction._

_Enough!  She pushed the thought from her mind.  If this were going to work she would need to be strong, happy… bright._

_With a final ruffle of the feathered cloak she wore she turned from the mirror and started to walk toward the door of her chamber._

_It was only a short walk down the hallway to the rooms of the temple occupied by her desideratum.  She paused in the doorway, singing a low charm under her breath before she stepped through into the dimly lit and sweetly fragranced chamber._

_He stood as she entered and she gasped at his magnificence.  He was shining with it.    His dark hair fell in curls around his shoulders.  The muscles on his oiled chest flexed as he held out his strong hands toward her and lower, beneath the drape of cloth that covered him, his firmly shaped thighs and calves bunched and relaxed as they carried him closer._

_"Sister," he said, and for a moment her heart sank as she thought he had seen through her deception.  "Wife," he added in an altogether different tone as he wrapped her in his embrace and bent his head to drink deeply of her willing mouth._

_"Are you tired, my love?" she asked, running her fingers down his back and feeling the way he pulled her against him more firmly._

_"Never too tired to pleasure you, my heart."_

_He took her hand then, leading her further into his chamber, into his bed, joining with her in unmatched fiery passion; possessing every inch of her body until she was dizzy with it – drunk on his touch and powerless against the pulse of his life inside her._

_"Osiris," she gasped his name as their union was fulfilled._

_"__Isis__," he breathed against her hair as he lowered his head beside hers._

_"My love," Nephthys said gently, and smiled as he raised his head to look down on her.  She raised her head to take his mouth in a sweet and almost tender kiss.  He matched her emotion, tenderness… love… and began to stir to life once more in the sacred temple of her body._

**

_"My love… my heart… you know, you understand…" The woman astride his naked body breathed the words against his neck between hot kisses.  One of his hands buried itself in her long brown hair, while the other wrapped around her waist._

_"You tease me," he growled and rolled over, so that he was over her, so that he could claim her as she knew he wanted.  His dark curls fell to shield the face of the woman into whose body he gave himself with such passionate emotion._

_She heard the woman gasp, and the arms around him became tense for all of a heartbeat, before they relaxed, before they pulled him again toward her and she moaned as he claimed her a second time._

"Ardeth!" Meiri woke with a start, the dream still in the frame of her mind.  For a moment she forgot where she was, it was something she was doing less and less as time progressed, and she reached out a hand to where Ardeth should have been.  The space beside her was cold.

A wave of sad loneliness so intense swept over her, bringing tears to her eyes as she rolled onto her side, facing away from the empty space.

"Soon, my heart," she breathed into the darkness.  "Please soon."

A cry broke the silence of the small dwelling. High and distressed it was the cry of a child in need of her mother.  It was a cry that Meiri felt inside on nights like this but could not express.

Grabbing a robe in which to wrap herself she threw off the blankets and skins covering her and padded across the room to where her daughter slept in the most sheltered spot in the small cavern that was her home.  She picked up the child and cradled her close, returning with her to her own bed.

"Khalidah, hush…" she rocked the child gently, full of love.  "Did I wake you?"

"M…ume…y," Khalidah wept in a strange mix of infant Arabic and English.

"Don't let my sadness hurt you, little one." She lowered her head to kiss her daughter's hair, dark curls, like her father's.  "Daddy will come soon, I promise."

Warmed in her arms Khalidah soon quietened, and sleepily ran her tiny fingers over Meiri's hands.  She cuddled her closer, as she once had the son she had delivered to Ardeth some three years before.  Three years… was it really so long?  And in the past year she had seen him so very rarely… and her son not at all.

Once more she tightened her arms around her little girl and pulling the covers over both of them, lay down to sleep.

**

Thunder rolled repeatedly over the dreary London skyline, shaking the windows of the aged mansion and providing a baritone for the shrill soprano cry of the telephone.  The combined noise pried open the sleepy, sad eyes of Rick O'Connell from sleep that he had only hours before managed to finally reach – a product of his grief.

"What now?" he mumbled as he pushed himself upright, feeling around for where he left his dressing gown.

He stumbled from the bedroom toward the stairs and paused to steady himself against a small, round, oak table.  His hand nudged against the photograph there and absently, he picked it up.

As he continued his journey to silence the ringing of the phone his eyes inevitably dropped to the picture.

"Evy," he breathed and his fingertips trailed across the smiling face of the woman in the picture, wrapped in his arms and in turn holding Alex. _God but those were happy times!  He breathed out sharply, trying to banish the sob that still found its way out of his chest in the form of a huge shudder.  He just wanted her back._

He missed her infuriating arguments; her unending enthusiasm; her gentle hands ministering to his tired muscles at the end of a long day.  He needed her back – whole and healed.

He blamed himself.  He should have noticed there was something wrong long before it happened.  Hell he should have recognised what was going on when they were back in Egypt. He'd seen it often enough and just kept turning a blind eye to it and putting it down to other things.

But their love had always been so strong.  It had shielded them from everything else – so why did it fail this time?  Why had he lost her?

He squeezed his eyes shut tight to stop the tears that were threatening to engulf him again, as they had earlier, after his visit with Jonathan.  A few moments more and he realised the incessant ringing was still sounding annoyingly in his ears.  Whoever it was there were persistent bastards.

A flash of panic drove away all other emotion.  Alex!  It had to be the school; no one else would call at this hour.  Alex must be sick!  Without a further thought he snatched up the heavy receiver and put it to his ear.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"Mister O'Connell?" The voice on the other end sounded a little put out by the brusqueness with which he answered.  He almost shrugged.

"Yeah," he confirmed.

"Sorry to waken you at this hour," The woman's voice was familiar, and he frowned trying to place it for a moment before she continued.  "It's Sister Allen, at Bellevue Hospital."

The panic he'd been feeling a moment before rushed back with a vengeance and threatened to choke him as everything inside him seemed to fall away into the soles of his feet.

"Evy!" he gasped.  "What's happened?"

"Please, Mister O'Connell, try not to panic." The Sister's voice sounded in his ear, firm and matronly as always.  "There's been a er…"

"What?  What's happened?  Tell me!" he tried not to sound rude, but she was scaring him, and this was his wife she was talking about."

"There's been a bit of a problem I'm afraid.  Can you come to the hospital?"

"What's going on?" he demanded.  It was a two hour drive to the hospital and he didn't think he could stand not knowing for that long.

"I'd rather not discuss the matter over the telephone Mister O'Connell.  Please come to the main gate.  Someone will be waiting to let you in.  Good night."  She hung up before he could say anything at all.

**

She twisted her hands nervously in her lap, and then in an effort to keep them still, she examined her fingernails one at a time.  She relished the idea of the latest assignment – to examine the psychology of the desert tribes, but not just _any desert tribe, the Medjai._

She'd read so much about them, and still knew so very little, but what she had read, that they were fiercely protective of their territory and their secret ways, fascinated her.  It was a strong mind that could live with that kind of isolation… and she was _so looking forward to meeting with their leader._

Of course she had to win his approval, but…

She looked up and almost leaped to her feet when the door of the curator's office opened. She groaned in disappointment as Wilfred Bartlett – the member of the board of directors that had first contacted her – walked into the office.  She'd hoped that he would stay away and let her handle the meeting herself.

"Miss Hamlyn, so good of you to ensure you are punctual," he said in greeting.

"That would be Doctor Hamyln, Mister Bartlett." She straightened her skirt over her legs and sighed.  "I thought we had decided that I would meet with the Medjai chieftain myself."

"You suggested it, Doctor."  He gave her a viper like smile.  "But I rather think he would respond more favourably toward another man."

"If you've actually ever _read any of the available information about the Medjai, you'll find they're actually very respectful of women."  She corrected him with a superior tone of voice._

"I think you'll find the fact and the fantasy in those storybooks you've been reading are far removed from one another," he countered.

"Mister Bartlett, if you truly believe that, then why did you engage a woman's services in the first place?" she snapped irritably.

"Because my dear woman, the Medjai are also very _passionate men," he sneered._

**

"Peace be upon you, Ardeth," The curator of the museum said with a slight bow as he clasped Ardeth's outstretched hand.

"And upon you also, my friend," he answered, clapping the man on the shoulder with his free hand.  "Now, what is this nonsense all about?"

The curator's face fell and Ardeth cocked his head on one side in query.

"The board of directors." The man answered.  "It seems that somehow they have finally discovered the brains enough to work out the involvement of the Medjai in the running of the museum."

"They have known for a long time, Ali," he argued, shaking his head a little.  "It suits them well enough, gives them the protection they need in keeping Egyptian artefacts in Egypt."

"Apparently not," Ali sighed.  "At a meeting several weeks ago, one of the new directors suggested – and remember these are his words, my lord – that having a "band of ruffians" involved in such a venture at this delicate time was not necessarily a good thing."

Ardeth bristled, but kept his face impassive as best he could.  "Who is this man and what does he want?" he asked calmly.

"His name is Wilfred Bartlett.  He was co-opted to the board in the last few months.  He's British, and has a keen interest in the New Kingdom exhibits."

Ardeth sighed heavily.  "Hamunaptra… another greedy man seeking to make his fortune quickly without really knowing what it is he disturbs.  And he seeks to remove our influence from the museum, yes?"

The curator nodded.  "Though I have to say the Medjai's assistance was well defended by most other members of the board."

"So why the danger?" Ardeth nodded his understanding of the unspoken complement given him by Ali.  Ali was not Medjai, as other curators had been, but was loyal to them and understood their reasons for keeping a close eye on the affairs of the museum.

"He has proposed that the culture and the psychology of the tribes be examined to ensure that there would be no problems that could tip the delicate balance here."  Ardeth frowned, not fully understanding.  "That your "warrior mentality" would not have you – how did he put it – throwing in your lot with the Germans?"

Ardeth waved away the suggestion.

"I know, I know," Ali held up his hand to prevent Ardeth from interrupting.  "He has proposed that you have a psychologist, a doctor, travel with you, stay with you for a time, and bring a report back to the board."

**

"Passionate?" She leaped to her feet this time and backed away from the objectionable man that had just made it clear that she was to be little more than – what was the word her brother always used – _totty – to lure the Medjai into revealing their true nature.  She wasn't just insulted by the chauvinism of the comment, but by the implicit suggestion that she wouldn't be able to complete her examination of the ancient tribe of warriors without the use of her skirts.  "How dare you!"_

"Oh do calm down dear girl," Bartlett waved an arm at her disparagingly.  "It wouldn't be the first time a woman's charms have been used to calm an angry beast."

"You engaged my services to prepare a report on the psychology of the Medjai," she said slowly.  "And that is precisely and _all I am prepared to do.  I don't intend to be some… some… scientific whore for you to…"_

She stopped as the door opened and the curator of the museum returned to his office, but it wasn't his return that had stopped her from speaking.  It was the presence of the man behind the curator.

He towered over the smaller man, glowering in the flowing, many layered, black robes of his desert attire.  Leather bandoliers full of bullets and shotgun cartridges were slung across his body in the shape of an X.  The hilts of twin, curving swords emerged from beneath a wide, black fabric sash under which she could just see the leather of the baldric that held twin scabbards.  His head was covered by a high turban, from which the indigo cloth of his face covering hung below his chin, and somehow, though she couldn't see how, seemed also to be draped around his shoulders and part of the outer layer of his robes.

His face itself was serious, almost stern looking but made to look mysterious and exotic by the neat goatee beard and crescent tattoos on his cheeks, and by the way the ends of his rich dark hair curled around the bottom of his chin where it had escaped from his headgear.

Her excitement almost strangled her, turning to nervousness under the intense way he was meeting her eyes as she scrutinised him.  The room wasn't exactly small, but he filled it all alone, certainly carrying himself like a chieftain that she knew he was.

The curator cleared his throat as though to break the tension in the room and then with a glance toward Ardeth began the formal introductions.

"Doctor Jennifer Hamlyn, Wilfred Bartlett," he gestured to each of them in turn.  "May I present to you Ardeth Bay, First Medjai."

The Medjai warrior inclined his head only the tiniest fraction, and then only in her direction, she noted.

"First Medjai, Doctor Jennifer Hamlyn, and Wilfred Bartlett from the museum's board of directors."

She felt a little more than intimidated as she held out her hand toward the tall, black clad warrior, but felt that she should do so all the same.  She didn't know why, but it surprised her when he reached forward to take her hand into his.  However, he did not shake the hand he now held, but covered it with the other of his hands and inclined his head over them.

"Al salaamu aleekum," he said in a soft, but firm voice that also took possession of the room.  She swallowed hard, feeling a little giddy.

"Aleekum al salaamu."  She had been practising that one simple phrase since the moment last week when she was told that she would come to meet this man, and still – from the slightest cringe she detected in the corner of his eye – she had made a mess of the pronunciation of the Arabic words.  "I'm very pleased to meet you," she added, hoping that he didn't mind.

"IHna asad," he softened his expression just a little then.  She had no idea what he had just said, and feeling that awkwardness again, eased her hand from between the two of his.

"Mr Bay," Bartlett burst in on her moment of awkwardness and thrust his hand in the Medjai's direction.  "Fantastic to meet you at last."

Jenny couldn't help but smile when the Medjai chief's eyes hardened again and he merely looked at the hand that the other man held out. The man had Bartlett's measure all right.  She looked at the tiled floor when the warrior's eyes flicked her way for a moment before returning that uncompromising stare of his the director's way.

Bartlett dropped his hand back down to his side looking, she thought, like a guilty schoolboy.

"Right, well… maybe we should just sit down and discuss the matter in hand then," he said, gesturing toward the couch and nearby chairs.

"Itfaddalu."  The quiet answer came from the Medjai's lips in the same light but authoritative tone.  Jenny glanced at the curator, wondering what had just been said.

"Please go ahead," he said, making a gesture of his own towards the seats in the room and lowering himself into one of them.  Ardeth Bay did not however move to sit down; he simple shifted the position of his booted feet slightly and folded his arms across his chest.

**

Perverse as it sounded, he was enjoying what could have been a very stressful meeting.  He had heard the woman's protestations through the closed doors, and Bartlett's answers too, and had taken an ever greater dislike to the man than he already felt.  It pleased him to be difficult, even if it were perhaps unfair to the woman, so obviously innocent of any part in the conspiracy.

He watched as they all settled themselves into their respective places.  Watching the man like the enemy he was and appraising the woman for the role that she was expecting to be granted.  She sat delicately, smoothing her skirt over her knees with a well manicured hand that he knew to be soft from when he had held it in the traditional greeting he'd used.

No.  Even if there had been no ulterior motive behind the request there was no way he would have taken such a woman into the Sahara.  It would, quite literally, be the death of her.

"So, maybe we can get to business then."  The one called Bartlett spoke again, his voice irritating, like a horse fly.  "Ali, be a good fellow and translate for us, would you?"

Ardeth's jaw tightened at the way the arrogant little man spoke down to his friend and ally.  _Time to end this._

"There is no need," he said in a clipped voice.  He fought to keep the smile from his face when both Bartlett and the woman jumped.  "I speak English perfectly well.  My father's third wife was British.  She taught me and my sisters to speak English when we were but children."

It wasn't exactly a lie, an exaggeration perhaps, but no lie.  Rachel had been his father's lover, never a wife, but she had indeed taught all of his siblings, and himself the nuances of the British language that their native father had been unable to so do.

"Well great!" Bartlett squeaked.  "So perhaps we can get to it then.  Thanks awfully for seeing us at such short notice."

Ardeth sighed, losing interest in playing with the sorry excuse of a man any longer he uncrossed his arms and rested his wrists on the hilts of his blades.

"Since I am informed that you threaten my people, why would I not?" He asked, his voice almost cold.

Bartlett stood and backed up a step.

"Now hang on.  I think you've been sorely misinformed old chap." His voice quivered slightly.

"Do you indeed?" He didn't move more than an eyebrow, which he raised.  "I think not.  I think you seek to try and prove that the Medjai are a threat to the continuing independence of the Museum at the very least."

"What on Earth gives you that impression?" Bartlett spluttered, and turned an expression of suspicion Ali's way.

"And at worst, to try and prove to the British Army that we present a threat that needs to be eradicated," he paused.  "We have no interest in your wars beyond the threat to the safety of ancient Egyptian artefacts and sacred sites.  But allow me to give you some advice… Mister Bartlett.  Stay away from Hamunaptra."

"Are you threatening me?" Bartlett demanded indignantly.

Ardeth shook his had and said in a calm but menacing tone, "Not yet."

"The nerve of the…"

Switching to Arabic he moved toward Ali, "I shall leave Bahir with you my friend.  I do not trust that he will not take action against you in retaliation for your warning."

"There is no need.  All will be well."

"Even so," Ardeth placed a hand briefly on the man's shoulder.  "I would sleep more soundly knowing that you were guarded."

He turned back to face the director of the board.  "The Medjai decline your request," he said to the still spluttering man and to the young woman, with a nod of farewell, he added.  "My apologies, Doctor Hamlyn."

Without another word, he turned and strode from the room.

**

It took her a moment to catch up with what had just happened and realise that thanks to the chauvinistic idiot on the board of directors she had lost the chance to gather information on the psychology of a race of people descended from an ancient warrior class in the time of the pharaohs.  It could have opened doors for her.

Damn it, she wasn't about to let Bartlett ruin everything for her.  She leaped to her feet and before the startled men could stop her, she set off through the door after the Medjai chieftain.

"My Bay!" she called as she all but ran after that man.  "Please wait."

She heard him sigh as he stopped walking and he swung round to face her.  "Doctor?"

"I understand your concerns, Mister Bay, and your objections, but…"

"I do not believe you do," he answered smoothly.  "Mister Bartlett acts only for his own gain and he would use anything he felt appropriate to satisfy his desires, including you.  Were I in your position…"

"Well you're not in my position, Mister Bay," she answered.  "And neither am I in yours, but if I were, then I would turn the opportunity around and use the situation to my advantage."

"No," he said firmly, with perhaps a hint of pique.  He was obviously a man unused to having his decisions questioned.  He started to turn away again.

In desperation, she did something that she would never have done if she had thought for even a moment about the impact of her actions.  She reached out and took hold of his arm.

"Let me come with you.  Let me write his stupid report and prove to him and the rest of the museum board once and for all that the Medjai…"

"No," he repeated himself and this time turned back to face her.  "My decision to deny your request to study my people was not simply based on Mister Bartlett's selfishness, Doctor Hamlyn, but also that my people do not deserve to have their dignity and their privacy invaded in that manner."

"It wouldn't be like that," she argued quietly.

"Completely aside from which fact, in the current climate of unrest in the desert, I could not in all conscience allow you to put yourself into the way of the kind of dangers you would face there.  Nor can I burden my men with the extra duty of protecting…"

"I can take care of myself," she pouted openly at the suggestion that she was a mere woman that needed the protection of a strong man in order to maintain her safety.

"Is that so?" he asked and before she could answer, or move a muscle, both of his hands shot out toward her to grasp her wrists and pull her hands closer to him.

The heat coming off his robes surprised her, as did their softness.  Even so she tried to free her hands from his unyielding grasp, though she failed completely, his hands were simply too strong.  In fact he gripped her wrists so tightly that he started to hurt her a little, and her hands began to tingle from the reduced circulation.

Equally as quickly as he had taken hold of her, he released his grasp and, no longer having anything against which to pull, she stumbled backwards.  This time when he caught her elbows, his grasp was gentle, supportive.  He stopped her from falling and she caught the sleeve of his robe.

"Your soft hands would be cut to ribbons by the leather of the reins.  The sun and hot Sahara winds would take your pale skin from your face, your neck and the top of your scalp and the desert nights are colder than you could possibly imagine.  You do not speak Arabic and you have seen nothing but the inside of a classroom these years past."  He set her on her feet and turned his head onto one side.  "You will forgive me if I insist that you would not survive life among the Medjai."

"You made your point," she said mournfully.  "Please let go of me."

He nodded respectfully and withdrew his supportive touch from her arms, sliding one of his hands down to find her hand and to take it into his own.  She swallowed hard, and then blushed as he raised the back of her hand to his lips and barely grazed her knuckles with the slightest of touches.

"For the record, sitti," he said quietly.  "The Medjai are an honourable people.  Emotion and passion have their place, but not between strangers."

"You heard?" she pulled her hand from his.

"I heard," he confirmed.  And with a respectful nod, he took another step back.  "Sirma ma'salaam."

She watched him turn and leave, not sure whether to be disappointed, angry, or something else entirely.


	2. Into a Corner

Angel of the Heart 2 

Chapter two

  
  
  


"Be careful with that!" Ananiah Roche snapped in worried annoyance at the hired help as they carried the precious wrapped item into the heart of his temple. "Have you any idea what lengths I had to go to to acquire it?" 

The servants shied away from his wrath, trying to back up while still carrying the large, flat object wrapped in thick velvet cloth. They brought it to the stand and set it down against the metal frame. It made a slight scraping sound that made Ananiah cringe. 

"Of course they don't, Divine Husband," the voice was deep and warm, and rolled through the chamber like the purring of a huge cat. He smiled and looked up to watch her approach. 

She, like the eight others of her women, was draped in layers of dark blue silk so lightweight and fine that they floated around her body like mists and were just as translucent. He could clearly see the swell of her breasts and the darker more tantalising places that he so often explored. 

He breathed deeply. He was a man who lived in the warm darkness between shadows and death. 

She and her women stopped at the foot of the nine stone steps that led up to the temple's altar and now housed one of the items they had fought so hard to get. All nine women lowered themselves to their hands and knees, making abeyance before him. He felt the stir of desire that the power kindled in him. 

"Ooben," he said lightly. The woman that had spoken rose soundlessly to her feet. "Ee-oo." 

She started up the stairs toward him. He reached out for her as she neared him and pulled her into his embrace, burying his hands in the silks that proved no barrier against his touch. She moaned and opened herself to his needs and he plundered her mouth, marking his possession of her. 

"Did you retrieve the other item," he asked after several long moments. 

"Of course, my Lord," she answered breathlessly, and snapped her fingers. 

One of the other women came to her feet then, and approached, carrying a large black book, with a star shaped pattern indented into the obsidian cover. She placed it into his waiting hands and then returned to her place, face down on the stone floor. 

He looked down at the book, and the pattern on the cover. It had once been a lock, but the hasp had long since been burned away by strong acid to allow free access to the text. 

"You have done well," his praise held a note of surprise. He had not expected the expedition to have been as successful. "And what of the guardians? Are they dead?" 

"Yes, Lord." 

"All of them?" 

"All of them." She purred. 

He smiled again, and made a sound of triumph that came out as a hiss. He did not believe his good fortune. He had found the temple, he had found the site of the former oasis, and his warriors had defeated those set to guard that hallowed place. Now all he needed were the rest of the artefacts, and the body of the one that would serve as his link with the divine. He already had the sacrifice. 

"Where is she?" The woman at his side asked, looking around the temple. 

"Sleeping," he answered, once more caressing the woman through her silken drapes. "She was tired after such an eventful day, but she has guided us well so far and has earned her rest." 

"Yes, Divine One," 

"Now, go to my chambers, all of you." he commanded. "I must see to the mirror, and then I will need the company." 

** 

Just another day…? 

A beam of sunlight played across her face, prying open her eyes to the Sahara morning, still relatively cool as it was yesterday and no doubt would be tomorrow. 

She closed her eyes again, willing the light to fade, the sun to sink again below the horizon and keep from dawning on a day that she'd known had been coming for many, many years. When she opened them again the sunlight was still filtering through the canvass of her father's tent. 

Her heart hammered in her chest as though it was trying to find a way out, to escape. It echoed her thoughts of the previous moment, for she knew that unless the day failed to dawn, there was no way that she would be kept from the role for which she had been groomed for over half of her young life. 

She took a deep breath to try and slow the frantic beat of her heart. Her hands shook as she sat up and picked up a robe to cover herself. Already the sounds of life from the Oasis around her proved the day to be well and truly begun; only she lay sleeping still, one last vain attempt to deny her destiny. 

"Ashna, habibti, are you awake?" her mother's soft voice penetrated through the separating layer of gauze fabric that separated her room from the others. 

"Yes mama," she answered and looked up as her mother came into the room. She wore an expression of happy, quiet pride. Ashna closed her eyes and sighed. For a moment she felt as though she would cry. Her mother was so proud of her, it felt wrong of her to feel the way she did, but there was nothing that would change that. She faced the rest of her life married to a man she didn't know and had only ever seen from a distance. Like most of the Medjai she knew his reputation and had seen his strength and authority, but to be his wife…? The thought of it terrified her. 

"I've brought your travelling clothes for you, my daughter." her mother held out a small bundle of folded clothes. "I thought I might help you dress for your journey. Abra is bringing your washing water." 

"Mama," she started to say that she was not a child any more, but stopped as the tears that had threatened earlier flooded into her eyes. She felt like a child. She wanted to burrow into her mother's arms and never come out. "Thank you, I'd like that." 

Before she could move her sister bustled in with a steaming bowl of water. She was four years her junior and in typical teenage fashion was enthusiastic for her sister's good fortune. 

"Will you ride with him, Ash?" she set the bowl down, her eyes alight with excitement. "Will he sweep you up on his stallion and whisk you off like the wind… Perhaps you can get one of his companions to take me as his…" 

"Abra!" her mother voice cracked out as Ashna bit her lip, sniffing back the tears. "Your sister does not need your chattering today. Your father's robes need washing, since you are so keen to have a man of your own to care for, you may take them and wash them." 

The fourteen year old girl huffed loudly as she moved out of the room, and crashed about loudly before Ashna heard the tent flap open and fall back into place. 

"Forgive your sister. She does not understand the importance of this marriage." Her mother began, taking her hand to draw her toward the bowl. As she undressed, her mother filled a soft cloth with warm water. 

Goosebumps rose on her skin as her mother began helping her to wash. There were so many questions going around in her head that she didn't know where to start. 

"You've grown to a beautiful woman, Ashna." Her mother broke the silence first as she passed the cloth over her breasts. "He will not be disappointed." 

Ashna blushed and stood tongue tied as the weight of her mother's words settled over her already heavy heart. How could her mother know that? She had no idea what to expect, what to do, and already the man she would marry had children. How could he not find her disappointing? 

"What do I do?" she asked quietly as her mother helped her to pull on the light sirwal that she would wear under her dress. 

Her mother finished tying the dark green garment around her waist and then tenderly cupped her face in her hand. "Your husband will know, my little one. Do not worry." 

"But how will I please him if I do nothing?" Her voice wavered slightly and a tear found its way onto her face. Her mother wiped it away with her thumb. 

"When I was a little girl, younger than you are now and I was to be married to your father, I too worried about these things. Your gidda told me only that I would know when the time was right," she said. 

"And did you?" Ashna asked fearfully. 

Her mother picked up a dress of the same green fabric as the sirwal and helped her to put it on. She fastened it tightly across her small bust and smoothed out the skirt that fell almost to her ankles. Then she picked up a brush and pulled up a stool for her to sit. 

"Your father brought me into our home – not this, but smaller. When first we were married we were not as prosperous then." Ashna closed her eyes to listen to her mother's tale and to enjoy the feel of the brush as it passed through her hair. "I was as nervous as a kitten as he brought me to his bed, but he was patient and gentle as I'm sure your husband will be." 

"But did you know?" she asked again. 

"Once we began," her mother finished brushing her hair and began to braid it against her head. "Once our bodies were joined, it was such a natural thing. My body knew even if my head did not. It is the way of these things." 

"What does it feel like… joining with a man?" She stood and turned as her mother finished braiding her hair. She'd heard the idle gossip of the girls approaching marriage, and those recently so… even as sheltered as she was – more so perhaps than all the Medjai girls – it was impossible that they could keep her from everything. They said there was pain. "Will it hurt?" 

"A little, at first," her mother said, "And likely you will bleed, but soon after, it is the most wonderful feeling. To know that you are so cherished… trusted enough that he will surrender himself completely into your body… no feeling can ever match that." 

Ashna's heart contracted as she heard her mother confirm the gossip she had heard. _Pain and blood in the getting and in the birthing._ She'd heard one of the new mothers in the village say that. She opened her mouth to ask about babies and children but her mother gently put a fingertip to her lips. 

"You will make a fine wife for him, my sweet child," she said. "Do not fear." 

"Mama," she had to ask her mother one last question. "Do you love Baba?" 

Her mother laughed. "What sort of question is that? Of course I love your father." 

"And did you? When you were first married?" 

"When your father and I first were married it had been arranged by our parents, just as we have arranged your marriage with the Elders of the First Tribe. Our love has grown through the years." She drew her daughter into a light hug. "As will yours with Ardeth." 

** 

Dawn was just creeping over the horizon when he pulled his car into the grounds of the hospital. He practically abandoned the vehicle and ran inside. 

"Mister O'Connell, thank you for coming straight away." Sister Allen met him in the hallway and steered him toward her office. 

"She's my wife," he answered and ran an exhausted hand over his face. "What's happened?" 

She waved her hand toward a seat. It was then he noticed the uniformed man that occupied another of the chairs in the room. 

She must have noticed the direction of his gaze because she said quietly, "This is Sergeant Ross of the local constabulary." 

"Police?" his voice caught up with the racing of his heart and mind and he demanded, "What's going on?" 

"Mister O'Connell," the police officer greeted him gently. "I'm afraid it seems your wife is missing." 

"Missing?" He jumped to his feet again and turned an accusatory stare the hospital sister's way. "You were supposed to look after her, supposed to be taking care of her. What do you mean, missing?" 

"Mister O'Connell… Richard," she started her sentence three times, taking a run up at it, he thought. "Rick, you must understand how agitated she was today. How disturbed… you saw her you…" 

"You called the police?" He demanded in disbelief. 

"We're worried that she might be a danger to…" 

"No!" he interrupted forcefully, starting toward the door. "Not Evy." 

"She was hospitalised…" 

"Because she was harming herself," he said, swinging back around to face them. "Because I couldn't be with her twenty four hours a day, seven days a week and because her brother was coming apart at the seams too." 

"I understand your…" 

"Pardon me, lady, but you understand nothing… not a God damned thing!" he spat. "So if you don't have anything helpful to suggest, excuse me. I'm going to find my wife." 

"Mister O'Connell, kindly sit down before I have you placed under arrest for interfering in police business," the sergeant said loudly. With a sigh, knowing it would not help Evy if he got himself locked up, he returned to his seat. "Thank you." 

"I've already told the sergeant what I know of Evelyn's behaviour today, but you know her better than anyone," Sister Allen said gently, "Perhaps you could tell him about your visit with her today." 

"I erm…" Rick had to clear his throat as he remembered, "I thought she seemed so much better today – like she finally had some life, you know?" 

_"Rick, come and see," Evy took his hand the moment he walked into her room. He almost swooned at such a positive contact. It was the first time in many months that she'd seemed so vital, so alive… almost happy._

_"What honey?" he asked as she led him toward a small table at the side of her room. "What am I looking at?"_

_He looked down at a sheet of paper that was covered in tiny scrawling handwriting, which could have been drawings._

_"Hieroglyphs?" he asked._

_"Hieratic silly," Evy slapped his arm and giggled. It was a glorious sound and he accepted the punishment of the light slap quite gladly. "I though you know the difference by now!"_

_"I do, I do." He gave her a killer smile and waggled his eyebrows at her. "I'm just teasing."_

_"Oh you!" she slapped his arm again and then threw a tight hug around his chest. After he banished the surprise he put his arms around her and held her too, lowering his head right beside hers and rocking the both of them gently from side to side._

_"Rick?" she said against his chest._

_"What baby?" he tensed slight at the change in the tone of her voice._

_"Do you think she's happy?"_

_His heart dropped out of the bottom of his shoes and his stomach leaped up to throttle him. Every time he thought there was a glimmer of a breakthrough, of Evelyn returning to him that question came up like an unscalable wall between them._

_"I mean… I've been there and it's beautiful. I showed you right?"_

_"Yes, Evy, yes you did… and you do… every time you give me that smile of yours," he answered gently. He cupped her face in his hands as she pulled back to look at him. Her eyes were shining with tears that matched his. He kissed her forehead and she sighed and pulled away._

_"Oh Rick, look," she snatched up the papers on which she had been writing and thrust them into his hands as though she'd forgotten that she'd ever shown them to him._

_The broken halves of his heart grated together as he took the papers and looked them over. Trying not to let his pain show in his voice he said, "Hieratic, right?"_

_"You know your writing," she praised him in an excited tone of voice._

_"I know my wife," he replied, swallowing hard, "But Evy, why Hieratic?"_

_She leaned toward him and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "They're spying on me."_

_"Who are?" he asked._

_"The people here," she used the same tone. "They think I'm crazy."_

_He had to turn away to hide the broken expression that crossed his face. He sighed and fought for control, to turn back and reassure her that she wasn't crazy, just sick… depressed after all that had happened to them – hardly a surprise._

_"I don't think she is, Rick." Her soft, mournful voice interrupted his torment. "I think she'd rather be home with us. I miss her so much."_

She'd cried then, and so had he as he held her, before they forced him to leave, as they always did just when he was starting to make real contact with her… with her emotions and with his own. Perhaps that was the problem… that they had never really taken the time to grieve their loss after the last terrible adventure in Egypt that had left the whole family deeply scarred. 

"But she'd seemed so much better," he said, feeling useless. 

"Mental patients often do, Mister O'Connell, just before some kind of…" 

"Whoa!" he stood up again and held up his hands. "She was _not_ a mental patient. Depressed, yeah… crazy, no!" 

The police officer held up a placatory hand. "Mister O'Connell, have you any idea where she might go? Anyone she might try and contact? We've already taken the liberty of informing your son's school just in case she'd go there." 

"She'd come home," Rick said. "There _is_ nowhere else."   


** 

"Baba!" Suhayl ran and jumped at him as soon as he entered his sister's home along side Tarek, her husband. 

He caught the boy and swung him around, before hugging him close. It had been almost three weeks since he last saw his son, and he missed him so much. He tensed his jaw to banish the though that always came as a pair with that one. 

"Have you behaved for your aunt?" he demanded of the boy. 

"Yes, baba," Suhayl answered as he set him back on his feet. "I'm a good boy." 

Ardeth looked over at his sister, and she nodded with a smile. "He's no trouble Ardeth. And he helps to keep Badr company." 

Ardeth picked up his nephew, who came to investigate and was pulling on his robes. Badr was just one year younger than Suhayl, and it probably did help having the older boy around to help with him, but looking at his sister's belly, swelling with the life of Tarek's second child, he knew he couldn't expect her to play mother to his son for too much longer. He sighed, and put the child back on the ground to watch him race off with Suhayl into the far corner of the tent. _Allah but he was tired._

"We have been away for many weeks. Let me take the boys with me so that you can spend time with Tarek," he suggested. 

To his surprise, his sister shook her head, and even Tarek seemed surprised and a little hurt at this. 

"The Elders want to see you," she said. "Leave the boys at least until you have been." 

He sighed again. Would they ever give him any peace? 

"We are only just returned," Tarek voiced his thoughts. "Can they not wait at least until morning?" 

"They said it was urgent." she gave both her husband and brother an apologetic smile. 

Ardeth reached over and squeezed her shoulder, before he slapped his brother-in-law lightly on the back. Then bone weary he exited the tent and made his was across to the centre of the settlement toward where the Elders held council. 

"Welcome home, First Medjai," they greeted him as he entered. Their formality worried him. The last time they had been so formal had been the time they had told him of his own death. 

"Respected Elders." He returned the formal greeting. "You asked to see me." 

"We did," said one. 

"Well I am here," he answered, feeling more than a little uneasy. "Speak what is on your mind, Old Ones." 

He was too tired to play games with them, and anyway was almost sure he could guess what they were going to say and knew also it was something he did not want to hear. 

"You must marry, Ardeth. You need a wife." 

"I have a wife," he answered without pause. "I need no other." 

"Meirionnydd?" A second Elder came from his side of the tent. He was carrying a huge scroll in his scrawny arms. "She is no wife to you, Ardeth. There is no record of a marriage." 

"You're splitting hairs, old man," he growled. "According to the old laws and traditions of the Medjai we are man and wife. She shared my bed and bore my son, my heir. She is my wife." 

"At best your concubine, First Medjai," a third Elder added his voice to the argument. "But without our blessing, just another woman that gave comfort to a tired Medjai warrior at the end of a long battle." 

It took every ounce of self control Ardeth possessed not to draw his blades and cut the man down where he stood for even thinking so badly of Meiri. It was partly the fact that he knew it had been said to bait him that gave him the strength to stay his hand. 

"She is my wife," he repeated firmly through clenched teeth. 

"Nor have we accepted your choice of heir," the eldest of the Elders stepped forward, he at least Ardeth noted, almost had a note of regret in his old voice. 

"This is outrageous!" he snapped and raised his voice. "How _dare_ you presume to blackmail me? Because of your interference Meiri left the protection of the settlement… because you convinced her that she was the cause of all the trouble and now this!" 

"Meirionnydd left because she knew what was best for the Medjai." The eldest said. "As did you at one time, my boy." 

"I am not your _boy_, I am your First Medjai," he pointed at the gathered Elders. "And I will not submit to these kinds of threats." 

He turned on his heels and started toward the door. He had never been more angry is all of his life. 

"I could have all of you banished or worse for your conspiracy against the very heart of our society!" 

"To what end, young buck?" An old voice called back fearlessly. He could not tell which one and did not care. He just wanted to be away from them all and to wash their foul stink off his body. "Already some of the chiefs of the twelve tribes are losing faith in your leadership." 

He froze mid stride and clenched his fists at his side. "Speak," he demanded, his voice colder than a night in the open desert. 

"There is still talk that your bringing the Usertim into the heart of the Medjai has caused the ill luck spoken of in Sekhemkare's curse. Some say that in continuing your dalliance with this woman you perpetuate that curse," the same voice said. 

"It is not a dalliance, she is my _wife_!" he roared in frustration. "Would any of them expect for their people to demand they put aside their wives if a few of their battles turned sour…?" 

"Or their crops failed… or their goats died… or children were born deformed or dead…" the Elders continued to throw a catalogue of the disasters that had been befalling the twelve tribes in the last few years at his back, for he still had not turned. "They need strong leadership now, not a man who constantly wanders the desert and leaves the son he calls his heir in the care of others." 

"I ride the desert fulfilling my sworn duties in guarding the many sacred sites," he argued. 

"You wander the desert to avoid you duty as First Medjai in providing strong leadership for the twelve tribes and sons to lead after you!" the Elder's accused. 

"I have a son." He turned then. "I will not forsake him and I will _not_ abandon Meiri. I will _not_ put her aside for another woman!" 

"Ardeth… Ardeth… Ardeth," a calm voice that he had not yet heard finally joined the argument as Mohammed came from the shadows in the rear of the tent and crossed the room to place a fatherly hand on his shoulder. He shook off the contact. "No one here is demanding any such thing." 

"You have openly threatened that if I do not comply with your demands and take another woman to wife, you will not recognise my relationship with Meiri as being valid and disinherit Suhayl." His voice held a note of angry disbelief. "How can you say you do not demand it?" 

"It is your own fear which makes those connections, my friend," Mohammed said quietly. "All we are saying is that for the sake of the Medjai, for the twelve tribes of which you are leader, you needs must marry. None here expects you to forget the woman who gave you back your life and bore your first child. Your wife will care for him as if he were her own and he will be your heir. What could be a more simple solution?" 

"For you to accept Meirionnydd. She is my wife!" he said quietly. "And _she_ is the mother of my son and heir." 

"She will not come back, Ardeth, and you know that," the eldest of them said. "Not until she feels the ending of the curse's threat to the continuation of the Medjai." 

"It is this separation which perpetuates that ill fortune!" Ardeth snapped, "And you _who_ have perpetuated that with the half truths you told her to make her believe you. Ill fortune, I might add, for which you have so far failed to find a solution." 

"Not so," Mohammed answered, still at his side. "We have just given you a solution." 

Ardeth was so angry that for many long moments he could not speak for fear that he would explode under the ferocity of the words that were on the tip of his tongue. He forced himself into the solace of logic, reviewing the words that were reportedly those spoken by his ancestor. 

_By my life blood I swear that any Medjai breaking this interdiction will bring upon himself and his fellows the curse of ill luck in battle as in life, that his line will not survive. Know that this decision was not reached lightly… nor will there be mercy and nor will it be revoked until such time as the harm to our people brought by this act is undone._

"You were told to find a solution that unravelled the harm caused by the intervention of the Usertim between Imhotep and Anck-Su-Namun that resulted in the death of Seti the first and the events thereafter," he said in a very measured voice. "I fail to see how my taking a wife addresses even one of those issues. Imhotep is still the abomination he ever was; Anck-Su-Namun the true evil behind the whole sordid affair and the Medjai are still living an enforced separation from their balancing power." 

"Ardeth…" 

"No!" He snapped. "You listen to my words but you do not hear me. It has ever been thus with you people. Past your prime as warriors you seek to bend the future of the twelve tribes to your will. That makes you little better than Anck-Su-Namun yourselves. Your only saving grace is that you believe you act for the good of the tribes." 

"How can you say such things?" Mohammed asked gently. 

"Because they are the truth, Mohammed," he answered vehemently. "Plain truths that I see as did my father before me." 

"Then what of the other commanders, Ardeth Bay?" As Mohammed looked away another of the Elders took up an important and more tangible issue than curses and conspiracies. "They need some demonstration that you are still the strong leader who will keep unity among them." 

"And you think a marriage will do this?" he asked sarcastically. 

"They have said as much," The Elder who carried the scroll toward him said, "Since it shows your commitment to providing sons to lead after you, who might be allied with the daughters of their tribes to maintain that unity." 

Frustration and bitterness rose to almost choke him. He did not want another wife. He could not love another woman than Meiri so it would not be fair to the woman in question, and he had no doubt that his _Respected Elders_ had some girl in mind. Yet he could not ignore that seed of dissention amongst his tribal brothers. 

"Who is she?" he forced the words past his uncooperative lips. 

"The same woman you should have married five years ago, Ardeth," Mohammed answered. "That has been promised to you these last ten years. We have already sent our escort to bring her here." 

"Who… is… she?" he asked again and grabbed a very tight reign on his temper. How dare they send for her without first having his consent? 

"Her name is Ashna al-Tahrani. She is the eldest daughter of Ishaq, brother to…" 

"Sulayman, who leads the twelfth, yes I know," he sighed. Sulayman's daughters were all already grown and married women. He was well aware that if they were not it would be a daughter of his own that would have been offered. He had refused her once, but then they had been in the midst of vicious conflict with some of the other desert tribes, not in peace time, as they were now. To refuse again without a compelling reason to do so could well be taken as an insult. He settled on the only defence he had left. "I will speak with my wife." 

"Ardeth…" 

"I will speak with my wife," he said very slowly. "If… and only if she agrees…" He stopped and could not continue. 

"You will consent to this marriage?" 

"I will." It took great effort for him to bring the words to his lips, before he turned and stormed from the tent. 

"Ardeth?" He pushed past Rashid who came to find him and began to once again saddle Marhana. 

"Please, apologise to my sister and ask her to watch Suhayl," he said through clenched teeth. 

"What is wrong?" Rashid asked. 

"Please," Ardeth asked him, "Just do as I ask Rashid, I will explain when I return." 

** 

The sound of movement in the outer chamber of the cavern complex woke her and without a second thought she wrapped an outer robe around her and made a grab for the gun that Ardeth had given her. She crossed the room to stand by her sleeping daughter's bed and shaking a little pointed the gun toward the doorway. 

The blanket slung across as a makeshift door was pushed aside and she tensed, ready to fire if she needed to, ready to protect the life of her child. 

In the dim light of her lantern he was the most beautiful sight that she had seen in many weeks, his hair already unbound from its restrictive turban, his robes adding to the impression of height and power. 

"Ardeth," she gasped and started toward him. 

"Meiri…" He took the gun away from her and tossed it aside, then wrapped his arms around her and leaned down to enfold her completely in his embrace. "Allah, but I have missed you, hayati!" 

She felt the tension in him then, the almost overwhelming sadness and frustration over and above his missing her, as she missed him. 

"What is it, my love?" she asked, trying to pull back from his arms. He held her too tightly and instead she burrowed closer and held him as tightly as he was holding her. "It's all right. I'm here. I've got you." 

His hand on her back moved up to her hair and she sighed deeply as his fingers slipped into the silky nest of it to pull her head away from his chest and he lowered his mouth to hers. She opened her lips to receive his kiss. 

It started slowly, their lips pressing lightly together, almost as if they were gathering their breath in respite against the cruelty of the situation that kept them apart. Then he let out a soft growl that set every hair on her body on end with anticipation as he voiced his need. His lips pressed more firmly against hers then, and she felt the hot brush of his tongue along the line of her lips, before it dipped within, to meet with hers and stroke together softly as passions rose. 

His teeth pulled against her bottom lip, his beard grazing the soft skin of her face as he shifted again to capture her mouth fully. His hands came up to cup her face almost desperately as his tongue began to spar with hers for possession of her mouth. She surrendered completely, needing the passion as much as he seemed to need to express it. 

Wordlessly, he picked her up and carried her toward the corner of the room where the bed of soft cushions and goat skins was made, and set her down on it, kneeling beside her. His eyes sought permission to continue, for even after three years of marriage, he would never take pleasure from her without her wanting the same. She smiled softly and reached to grasp one of the bandoliers he wore and to lift it off over his head. 

"Always, my heart," she whispered, shrugging off the outer robe she had donned when she had left her bed moments before. 

She reached for the buckle on his belt as he followed her lead and removed the other of his bandoliers and then his boots, before he turned to face her again. 

"You are cold, my wife," he noted and ran his hands over the swell of her breasts to press his palms against her already pert nipples. She closed her eyes and sighed at his touch, then leaned in closer to kiss his cheeks, his eyes, and his forehead while his hands continued their tender assault on her breasts. 

"Then warm me, my husband," she breathed between kisses, and reached for the knot holding his outer robes firmly closed. She tugged the length of material free of his waist just as he pulled her closer to him and slipped his hands around her, to cup her buttocks and pull her against the hardness already straining in the front of his desert pants. Pushing off the many layers of his robes at once she wound her hands around his now naked shoulders, and holding him, lay back against the bed. 

He followed and circled her with his arms, holding her against him and searching for the bottom of the robe she wore. She reached for his hand and guided him, sliding his fingers along the back of her thigh beneath the cotton dress, alive to his touch and then let go, to move her own fingers against the ties that held his pants fastened. They too succumbed to the need she shared with him and with his help she pulled them free of his body to leave him naked at last to her touch. 

** 

He moaned as her fingers encircled his length, and leaned closer to capture her mouth in another deep kiss. He tasted her mouth, breathed her breath but it was still not enough. After months apart he needed more. 

His hand again climbed along the back of her thigh, this time to raise her leg over his hip. His fingers brushed against her centre and moaning into the kiss she pressed against him and rolled him onto his back, her legs falling either side of his as she straddled him and leaned against his chest. 

The movement broke the kiss, and breathlessly he lifted the robe she wore over her head before he gathered her against him, naked now. She kissed and nipped his neck as she moved against his hardness. Never enough to take him inside her, but enough to let him feel the evidence of her need to do so as her heated centre glided over him. 

She leaned up again and he cupped his hands around her full breasts, his thumbs playing over her nipples, squeezing them gently between his thumbs and the side of his hands. Her head fell back and she moaned his name in an expression of her passion as their mutual need reached a peak and he could hold himself back no more. 

Sliding his hand into her hair he brought her lips down to meet his crushing kiss, and rolled them so that he was covering her. She wrapped her legs around his and ran her fingernails down his spine until she could grasp his buttocks. 

He moved only slightly but brought them together to fill her until they were hip to hip, moaning her name as she sheathed him, the perfect match for him. 

** 

After many long moments of stillness he began to move inside her with an urgency and passion that stole her breath and had her reaching for him all over again, wanting to match him, to get closer somehow. 

Her hips rose as his fell bringing him back inside her, their kisses proved a mirror for the actions of their bodies. She became totally lost in him, and in the moment of their passionate love. 

There was no restraint, no reservations, just complete surrender to the emotions and the feeling… to the sensations of overwhelming oneness, each with the other. Her skin was alive with the touch of his hands, and his body against hers. Her heart beat to the rhythm of their lovemaking and her soul burned with the flame of his life force. She was surrounded by his protection, a part of his being even as he became a part of her body, as she surrounded the risen expression of his love. 

He leaned up and she opened her eyes to see the most beautiful expression of poignant sweet agony of his face. His breathing was as ragged as hers. She reached up a hand as if drawing him back to her would somehow help her to reach that elusive ache that she could not quite reach to be free of. He nuzzled the hand and gathered her close again before capturing her lips in another passionate kiss. 

A sudden break in the rhythm of their dance, and a deeper hard thrust against her… his lips came suddenly from hers and he cried out a wordless expression of fulfilment as his release crashed over him. She felt the heat inside her and she too burst, drinking him deeper still with the tremors of her own sweet death. 

His weight settled over her as he pressed his head into the crook of her neck, as if all of his strength were gone. He was breathing hard and the light sheen of sweat covering them both began to cool them. She was about to reach for a nearby skin to cover them when she notices his breathing was not just hard, it was ragged still, and his body had begun to shake. He was weeping. 

** 

How could he ever turn away from such love? How could they even expect him to share himself with another than Meiri? How could he possibly even tell her what they had demanded and expose her to such pain as he felt at that thought? 

In the vulnerability that followed the most fulfilling release that was her gift to him, the emotions of the day grabbed hold of him and would not let go. Emotionally and physically exhausted, he broke down and wept into her hair. 

"Ardeth?" she questioned gently, but at the same time her fingers brushed against the back of his head and she tried to soothe him tenderly. 

"I cannot!" he gasped amid his tears. 

"It's all right, my love," she whispered, turning her head to kiss the side of his. "Whatever is troubling you we'll sort it out together." 

"Meiri, please…" 

"Ssshhh," she raised his face from her shoulder and kissed his lips gently. He knew it was to stop him from asking her to come home as he had been about to do. And knew also that by doing so she had already told him that she would not. 

She continued to kiss and stroke him tenderly until he calmed, until the storm of emotion that had grown too great for him to hold inside had blown itself out, never minding for a moment that they still had not moved and she still carried his full weight. 

"I am sorry," he murmured, and finally moved to lie beside her on the bed and gather her close in his arms. 

"Never apologise for showing me your feelings, Ardeth," she murmured against his chest. Her fingers drawing little spirals against his stomach. 

"This separation hurts, Meiri," he said. "Please come home." 

"You know I can't," she answered. He sighed, knowing it was what she would say he still had to ask. He stroked his fingers through her long hair. 

"I need you," he whispered. 

"And I you, my love." She sat up then, and reached for a robe to cover herself. "But I will not endanger your people and when I am there, that is just what happens." 

"You do not know that those things would not happen anyway." He tried to argue with her and took the robe from her hands. He eased her back into his arms. "Do not shut me out." He told her, kissing her brow. 

"We both know the truth of this, Ardeth." She reached up to press her hand against his cheek and he cradled it there. "That words spoken in the love – or in the pain of love lost, as Kem's were, carry great power. We know that better than any living soul." 

There was a long silence. He tried many times to find the words to tell her why he was so upset… why he needed for her to be with him now… back at his side, guiding him, balancing his strength with her beauty and his action with her wise words. 

** 

"There is no way to undo what was done, is there?" she asked, making a guess at what he was thinking. 

"They still do not know," he answered. His hands shifted over her back to hold her more tightly, as though he was afraid to let her go more than a breath away. 

"Then what, habibi?" she asked. He sighed and sighed again. "Please tell me what is troubling you so much. You're starting to frighten me." 

"Oh, my sweet angel," he kissed the top of her head. "Never knowingly… forgive me." 

She felt him sigh several more times and knew that he was struggling for a place to begin. Her stomach churned as she waited for him to speak. 

"The Elders told me that some of the tribal leaders doubt my commitment to the twelve tribes," he said, and she moved so that she could look up into his face. She frowned at the ridiculous notion. When he spoke again it was incredibly slowly and carefully. "They do not believe I have made sufficient provision to safeguard future leadership of the Medjai." 

She understood at once what he meant… what he was being so careful not to say to her, to spare her feelings. Even so the thought of it brought tears rushing to her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said as much as asked, "They want you to marry." 

"Yes." He confirmed her worst nightmare in a single word. 

"And what did you tell them?" she asked, her voice warbling with the tears she fought to hold at bay. 

"Meirionnydd, you are my wife," he said. 

"No, Ardeth, not to them," she interrupted. "To them I'm just a woman that shared your bed often enough to get with child and…" 

"To _hell_ with them!" he spat vehemently enough that she pulled away, startled. His expression softened at once and he stroked her arm in silent apology. "You _are_ my wife, Meiri, and I want no other. And I promise you, I will never _love_ another." 

"But you need to marry," she finished. She knew his words and his emotion were the truth, and knew just from the tension in his body that the thought of another woman than her sharing his life and his bed horrified him, but she knew also that he was as trapped in this situation… by the Elders' interference as she had been. "What is she like?" 

"We have never met," he answered. "I know only that she is the niece of the Chieftain of the twelfth tribe…" 

"When will the wedding take place?" she asked. 

As though she could feel the emotions in the room, Khalidah woke and began to cry. Meiri once more reached for her robe and pulled it over her head to get up and see to their child. 

"Nothing is arranged," Ardeth answered. She heard him get up and pull on his pants. "Nor will it be unless I am convinced that you understand the reasons for it and can give me your blessing for those at least." 

"You're telling me that you want _me_ to decide what you should do?" she answered tearfully, hugging the crying child close. Even so she leaned in to Ardeth as he wrapped his arms around both of them. 

"As is the right of the wife of any Medjai," he answered. "Yours is the right to permit or deny another woman to come into our life." 

"Bring her to me." Meiri whispered. "I want to see her… and then you can have my answer." 

Ardeth held her very tightly, breathing deeply he kissed the top of her head and murmured, "I will not take her without your consent." 


	3. Promise You Will Love Them

Angel of the Heart 3 

Chapter 3

  
  
  


Rashid watched the group of riders as it drew to a halt by the horse coral. He looked at the diminutive figure in the centre of the group, who looked smaller than he was sure she truly was, surrounded by the nine warriors all sitting atop large Arabians. He sighed and made his way across to them. 

She was completely covered in the robes traditionally worn by the women of the Medjai when they travelled. Lighter in weight than the men's desert robes, but still unrelieved black, they covered her from the top of her head and would reach to the ground when she was not mounted. Her face was veiled as it should be, but he could tell just by looking at the position of her body, that she was exhausted. 

"Peace be on you, my lady," he greeted her with a slight inclining of his head. 

"And also on you, sir," she answered. She sounded very young. Her voice was light and high and shook with nervousness. For a moment he felt a little sorry for the girl. 

"Allow me to assist you." He reached up a hand for her to take as she swung her leg over the horse's neck and caught her as she slipped and almost fell. He set her on her feet and then let go at once. "Welcome to al-Kharga. I am Rashid Khalifa, Honoured Second." 

"It is my pleasure to meet you," she answered. 

"The pleasure is mine," Rashid felt a little awkward, but Ardeth had insisted that tradition be followed to the letter on the arrival of the woman that had been selected for him as his prospective bride. "The women of his family are waiting to see to your needs, Lady. Please follow me." 

Without waiting for her assent he turned and began to walk toward the women's tent. He deliberately slowed his step so that she would be able to keep up with him, and called back orders for her things to be taken to the guest quarters, where she would live until after her wedding. He paused at that thought, all assuming that Meiri gave her blessing on the union. 

He sighed again. 

Ardeth had been so despondent when he had returned to the settlement after his last meeting with her. He said that he had once more asked her to come home with him, and that she had once again refused. If she had refused to come home then it was likely she would agree to the wedding, which was supposedly for the good of the Medjai, though he failed to see how making the First Medjai utterly miserable could do anything but harm to their society. 

He glanced to the side, between two of the supply tents, knowing that beyond lay the training area for the younger warriors and those yet to attain manhood. He could see Ardeth, working with one of the youngsters on his technique. Only his closeness with the First Medjai allowed him to notice the slight tension in his shoulders, and the downward cast of his head. 

Ardeth looked up at that moment, straight into his eyes as though he could feel Rashid watching him. Rashid nodded his head in answer to the silently communicated question that passed between them. _She has arrived safely then?_

"You must be tired after your journey," he said to the woman still walking slightly behind him. He needed to take his mind off the sadness he had seen in his friend's eyes. "You were well treated by your warrior escort I trust?" 

"They looked after me well, Honoured Second. And it helped to soothe my fears. I have never been away from my home so many days before," she answered. He looked back over his shoulder at the shrouded woman. It was a six day ride from the Twelfth tribe to the oasis of the First, and with a woman part of the party making the journey, probably closer to eight. Her words made him realise just how much she too was suffering for this union to take place. 

She would be saddle sore, that went without saying, but the nervousness he'd heard – that he'd thought because of the her forthcoming marriage – he suddenly realised was kindled by issues far more complex than just that. He could see that now. 

"You must think of this place as your home now," he answered, trying to sound comforting. 

"Of course," she said quickly, "I didn't mean…" 

She stopped and backed up a step when he turned. He hadn't meant for her to believe he was chastising her for her choice of words and, as unhappy about the prospective union as he was, he was human enough to want to avoid upsetting her. She was obviously already upset enough. 

Breaking with protocol he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "It was my meaning that was misunderstood, not yours. I understand that you are a long way from the place that has been your home for all of your life… I just hope that you can find yourself equally at home in this place… given time." 

** 

She blushed, was unsure of the touch, but at the same time her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for the only man in the last few days that had at least tried to make her feel a little more at ease. 

The warriors she had travelled with had been polite and had seen to her needs, but she had found them intimidating, and was already afraid to be out in the open desert where they might be attacked at any moment by bandits or rival tribes. All her life she had been sheltered by her father, her brothers and the warriors of the Twelfth tribe. That had only increased when she had been named as the one that would be wed with the First Medjai. 

She dropped her eyes from the kind expression she saw in the Honoured Second's. She hated the way she was feeling. Hated that she must appear to be so weak, so timid and helpless, but the whole situation had her completely off balance. After the last time, five years before, when he had refused to go through with the marriage, she never thought to see the day when she would leave her home to be brought before him… one step closer to their union. It would have suited her well enough to have been freed from the arrangement so that she might at last look forward to a life where she could choose her own path, with the possibility of love. 

"Thank you," she answered quietly at last, and found herself idly wondering if the man before her might not have been the kind of man she could have loved. 

They spoke no further words until they reached the large communal tent that was the domain of the women of the Medjai. Another challenge would await her there, one day… to find her place in the pecking order of the women. As wife to the First Medjai she would be expected to match his strength and that thought worried her too. She did not have confidence in her ability to do that among strangers. She sighed; she would have to earn her position amongst friends instead, but that might prove just as difficult. 

"I must leave you now," The man that had introduced himself as Rashid told her as they reached that doorway. "If there is anything you need I'm sure Karida will find it for you. She is his eldest sister." 

She sent silent thanks his way. For a second time he had spoken to put her at her ease and given her a piece of information that would help her – the name of the woman who she would need to befriend – and quickly. 

Uncomfortable at his intensely questioning expression she lifted her hand and pushed open the tent flap and went inside, to pause and allow her eye to adjust to the change in light. 

All eyes turned her way as she stopped just inside the doorway, before a heavily pregnant woman got up from a bench on which she was sitting and came towards her with her hands outstretched. She was tall, with rich curls that fell around her shoulders in dark waves. Her eyes were shining brightly, but had a hard edge to them. 

"I am Karida Bay Ghani," she said. "You are among friends here, you may unveil yourself." 

The tone of voice did not match the meaning of the words. Ashna's mind raced through all the reasons there could have been for Karida being so cool toward her. Perhaps she saw her as a threat to her position among the women. 

"My thanks," she said and not wanting to anger the other woman more by refusing to uncover herself, she reached up and unhooked the veil from the side of her travelling robe and pulled it down. "It has been a long journey." 

"Then come, rest with us." Karida took her hands and squeezed them lightly. "Tell us a little about yourself. We are to be sisters after all." 

Ashna had to fight to suppress a shudder at the tone that came into her voice then. The threat was an open one, warning her not to step where she was not wanted. 

** 

It was all she could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other to keep moving. To either side of her, Karida and Balqis, his sisters, walked calmly toward the tent where the meeting between them would take place. 

In all the years that she had been promised to him they had never met. The nearest she had come to him was to see him from a distance on the few occasions when he had come to the Twelfth tribe on official business. 

"Thank you, ladies," the Honoured Second met them at the door to the huge meeting tent and quietly dismissed the other women. For a long moment or two he didn't say anything more and then quietly he added, "They are waiting for you inside." 

"They?" she asked fearfully. 

"The Elders," he said. "They wish to speak with you. I go to bring Ardeth to you now." 

The way he so easily spoke the name of the First Medjai told her that they were not only Warrior Brothers, but also good friends. She found that thought made her slightly uncomfortable for no reason she could adequately explain to herself. 

She looked up to find him looking at her in the same querying way he had when he had first brought her into the settlement and to that first difficult meeting with Karida. She had managed to make a kind of peace with the other woman, but it was obvious to her that it was a fragile one; that it had something to do with the mother of Ardeth's son. 

"Lady al-Tahrani?" Rashid's voice startled her. "Is something wrong?" 

"No," she said, embarrassed to have been caught thinking of such matters. "Forgive me." 

He nodded and held back the door of the tent for her to enter and after a moment she took a deep breath and did just that. 

A moment later she wished she were back outside. The four Elders of the First tribe approached looking like withered serpents stalking their prey. 

"Ashna al-Tahrani," the first of them spoke with a sibilant quality to his voice, adding to the image in her mind. She shuddered. "You are welcome into First Tribe at last." 

"You honour me, my lords," she answered, her head swimming with the pressure of it all. 

Another of them waved his hand as though to dismiss her words. "Your father and mother have been most patient with our errant First Medjai." 

"He is their First Medjai also," she answered, not knowing where the slightly defiant words came from, so she added demurely. "As he is mine." 

"Indeed," A third of the Elders stepped forward. This one she recognised. It had been he that had undertaken the negotiations with her father through all the years of her betrothal to Ardeth Bay. "As he is yours. You must not allow him to persuade you otherwise." 

Everything in her chilled as all the hairs on her body stood on end at his tone. She had never liked the man, Mohammed, she thought was his name. She thought she always detected that hint of threat in the way he carried himself and in the way he spoke. She was intimidated by the man when she met him as a younger girl and since she came of age, he made her afraid in a way she had never fully understood. It was as though some intuition were warning her that she should keep as far from him as she could. 

"I do not understand, my lords," she said addressing them all. "He sent for me. So the union has been agreed. As his betrothed I will comply with his wishes." 

One look at the faces of three of the four men told her that she had not been told the entire story. Only Mohammed remained impassive. 

"Of course," Mohammed said smoothly. "As you should. All I am suggesting is that Ardeth…" 

"Ardeth what?" 

The voice from the doorway turned her legs to water and made her heart drop right into her stomach. It was rich, deep and smoothly carried the weight of authority without apparent effort. He sounded completely sure of himself, in total contrast to the confusion that was swirling round inside her. Suddenly she felt very sick, almost a little dizzy. 

"First Medjai," Mohammed greeted him. "Allow me to present A…" 

"Leave us," he commanded. 

"But my lord, you must…" 

"I said leave us." He paused, she could hear that he had not moved and she dare not turn around to face him. 

One at a time, the Elders moved from her line of site, muttering of their disapproval. She too felt a little uncomfortable with the clear breach in Medjai custom… to be alone with a man, even if they were betrothed… 

"Rashid, stay." 

In the awkward silence that followed, she had no choice but to turn to face that man that had been the focus of her young life. 

He was tall, in fact he filled the doorway with his stature and the confident way he carried himself. His dark hair curled around his shoulders and had recently, she noticed, been washed and brushed. In parts it was still damp. His eyes showed the edge of the authority with which he had dismissed the Elders, but their deep brown softened as she turned to face him, and he tried to dismiss the tight line his lips had become, framed as they were by his neat facial hair. She was sure he was not used to having his orders disobeyed. He did not quite manage a smile, but the serious, yet almost gentle expression he relaxed into grabbed everything she was and started her reeling again. He was quite simply the most handsome man she had ever seen. 

It took every ounce of self possession for her to stand her ground as he approached. His silver edged black robes hardly made a sound as he moved and added to his regal appearance. He stopped just before her, towering over her, even though she was not a small woman. 

"Ardeth Bay," he said, holding out both hands toward her. 

"Ashna al-Tahrani," she answered barely above a whisper and raised her visibly shaking hands to place them into his. 

His grasp was warm and firm around her small fingers, and she barely felt the movement as he bowed slightly over their joined hands. She swallowed hard against the rising heat that was climbing past her chest and beginning to bite at her ears. 

"Welcome," he said very softly and then added, "Perhaps you would like to sit down." 

He inclined his head toward a bench she hadn't noticed, and then started moving, still holding her hands, almost before she had managed to force the words of thanks from her mouth. Still she struggled to try and give him response for his welcome. 

"Please, Ashna, enough," he said firmly, and she fell silent at once. His voice softened as he said, "Sit… be comfortable." 

** 

He couldn't stand to see her struggling so much, or to feel the way she was trembling through the contact of her hands and it irritated him to think that the Elders had said something that had made her so afraid of him. 

"Forgive me, First Medjai," she said as she lowered herself to the bench. "I am…" 

He sighed. "Please, my name is Ardeth. And think nothing of it. You have had a long journey with only a little time to recover." 

"You are too kind." 

She looked as though she was making a great deal of effort to pull herself together. Though in truth he could see little, veiled and covered as she was. 

Karida had described her to him of course and if, as she had said, Karida thought she was a rare beauty among girls then he had no doubt that it was true. Her eyes were pretty, a light, soft brown that was particularly rare and always very expressive. They were showing him embarrassment now, at her reaction to finally meeting him, but in truth he would have been surprised and perhaps worried at any other reaction – though admittedly he had not expected it to be so strong. The poor girl had been browbeaten for the last ten years of her life, reminded at every turn that she was going to marry the First Medjai. He had no doubt she would have her own image of who he was and what exactly that would mean. 

He smiled faintly. He meant it as a kind smile. 

"May I?" he gestured toward the bench beside her and sat down when she nodded her ascent. How was he to begin? How to tell her all that he was sure she did not already know? 

"I heard the end of your conversation with the Elders," he told her, looking at his hands and the floor beyond them. 

"I meant no disrespect," she almost sounded as though she thought he was going to have her beaten for the way she had spoken to them. He fought against the chuckle that built in him. In truth he had been pleased at her words to the meddlesome old men. 

"It is they that were disrespectful, to both you and me, Ashna," he said instead. 

"I don't understand," she murmured. 

He turned toward her then, wanting to soften what would more than likely come as a terrible blow to her, young and fragile as she was. "It was they that sent for you. Mohammed probably," he added, referring to the youngest of the Elders. 

"Then you still do not agree to our union?" she asked. He forced himself to meet her eyes and was surprised to see the beginning of tears in them. He reached for her hand, still trembling in her lap as it was. 

"Ashna, would you have me lie to you and tell you that I am anything other than surprised that you father has waited for me all these years?" He took her hand and held it gently against the slight resistance he felt in her – to touch in that way against cultural conditioning. "The truth of the matter is that I already _have_ a wife… at least as I understand the old laws." 

"The mother of your children?" she asked with a hint emotion in her voice. 

"Yes." He nodded. "The Elders of my tribe and some of the other commanders will not recognise her as such – but to me," he sighed. "She is my life." 

He would not normally have revealed so much to a complete stranger, but this sweet girl before him, who may yet end up as the wife recognised by Medjai Law, deserved to know. If he could in any way lessen the pain and embarrassment he was causing her, then it was only right that he should do so. 

"Then why…?" she asked, obviously confused and hurting before she stopped as though she felt as though she were asking too much. 

"Why what?" he prompted. 

"Why not just have me taken straight home?" she asked and finally looked down at their joined hands, tugging on hers until he let go. He had thought to give her comfort, but had forgotten that she was truly a woman of the Medjai, not, as Meiri was, caught between cultures. 

He took a deep breath and sighed. "As First Medjai, I have a duty first to my people. They are calling for me to marry and to ensure the future of our tribes. They will not accept Meiri as my wife because she is Usertim." 

"Then ours is to be only a political marriage?" she asked, her voice this time unmistakably tinged with tears. 

He shook his head, and at the movement she turned back to him. His heart turned over countless times in his chest to see the tears falling from her eyes and disappearing down beneath the veil and he cursed the interference of the Elders, that someone obviously so gentle and tender was being caused so much pain. 

"Never that," he said as gently as he could. "When I declined your father's offer of your hand five years ago, I sent a message with my reasons. They remain as true now as they were then. I would never take to wife a woman for whom I could have no feelings. If we are to marry, then I will give you all of myself that I am able." 

"Then what of your wife?" she asked him. "Does she know?" 

"Yes," he said quietly. "I have spoken with her about everything." 

"And has she given you her blessing to take a second wife?" Ashna passed a hand beneath her veil to wipe away her tears. "Or am I still to be sent away?" 

"Meiri wishes to meet with you." he said. "Ashna… if I could grant you anything…" 

"No," she interrupted, surprising him. She sounded almost panicked. "Please do not ask me that. I don't _know_ anything else, and will not endanger our people any more than you would." 

"Forgive me." He inclined his head. 

"When will the meeting take place?" she asked. "And what will you do if she will not allow the wedding?" 

"If Meiri will not give her consent to our marriage, then you have my word that I shall release you from your obligation to me and to the Medjai in the matter of our union." 

Her eyes thanked him with the relief they showed even though her voice did not. 

** 

She felt as though her world was coming to an end. She couldn't explain the feeling but as she secured Khalidah into her travelling clothes, Meiri felt that this would be the last night she would ever see Ardeth. 

She was so on edge that she heard the light tread of his steps as he entered her home, he had not even pulled down the covering from his face before he swept her up into his embrace, further adding to the almost desperate feeling of goodbye. 

"Ardeth," she gasped as she buried her head into his chest. 

"Hayati," he answered, and eased her head up, cupping her chin in one hand while uncovering his face with the other. Their kiss was much needed and heartfelt and both were breathless when it broke. Still cupping her face between his hands he rested his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. 

"Where…" she faltered and had to start again. "Where is she?" 

"Meiri," he said. It didn't answer her halting question at all, but showed that he wanted to protect her from the pain all this was causing her. "We do not have to do this." 

"Yes, Ardeth," she answered. "Yes we do. Where is she?" 

"Rashid and Tarek are bringing her later. I have set a meeting place far enough away from here to keep you safe," he said. 

She reached up a hand and caressed his cheek. He first nuzzled the contact and then turned his hand to kiss her palm. 

"So long as you are in the desert, habibi, I will be safe." 

They both sighed and moved into a crushing embrace. Here she felt safe; locked in his arms, where nothing could touch her; where they could be just two people in love and the rest of the world just faded to insignificance. 

"And nothing and no one can touch us here," she whispered into his shoulder. 

Even as she spoke the words, the ground under her feet tilted and the room shifted. She grasped suddenly for Ardeth's shoulders, and felt his arms around her move at once to support her. 

_Eyes, the dark eyes of a woman watching them with open envy._

"Meiri?" He had all but carried her to a nearby chair and lowered her head down by her knees When she gained awareness again it was to feel his hand gently pressing at the back of her neck to keep her head down. 

"I'm all right," she told him, shaking away the nauseating dizziness that had overcome her with the flash of vision. 

"How long has this been happening?" he asked. 

"This is the first time," she told him as he let her sit up. "Apart from strange dreams." 

"Dreams?" 

"Ardeth, please." She took hold of his hand. "They were just dreams… I see now it was because of this other woman." 

"You are sure?" he frowned in concern. "Sure that there is nothing wrong?" 

Nothing wrong? She could have laughed at his choice of words. He was taking her to meet another woman. A woman that others wanted as his wife, that if she agreed would share his bed and his life in a way that she once had, but now could do so no more, because of the Goddess to whom she had been given both by birth and by the acts of evil wrought by Anck-Su-Namun. 

"I am fine," she said, her fingers traced the shape of his tattoos on the back of his hand. "Will you help me with Khalidah?" 

"Meiri…" 

"Please," she pressed. He helped her to her feet again and tied the long wrap around her that held their daughter to her body. 

They walked together to Marhana. The horse was waiting patiently outside the cave complex. He mounted first, and then reached down a hand for her, to pull her up in front of him. She was glad that the pace he set was slow. It gave her time to steady herself for the forthcoming meeting and against the other flash of vision of which she had told him nothing. 

** 

It felt wrong to her, very wrong to be stealing out of the Medjai settlement in the company of two men, even if it were at the command of her First Medjai and the men in question were his sister's husband and the Honoured Second. At least it kept her mind off the forthcoming meeting. 

She pulled the cloak tighter around herself at that thought and fiddled with the ends of her veil. Absently she reached out to touch the sleeve of the Honoured Second to attract his attention. 

He turned and she asked quietly, "Is it far?" 

"Far?" he echoed her words. 

"To the place where the meeting will take place," she clarified. 

"We will need to ride for an hour, perhaps two," he answered and then turned his attention back to readying his horse for the ride. She thought he was angry. The day had been a total nightmare for her so far, and she could only imagine it would get worse once she actually reached their destination. 

"You will ride with one of us, Lady." The other Medjai added. "At Ardeth's command." 

"Of course," she answered and waited patiently for them to finish preparing their horses. 

Rashid mounted and held out his hand for hers. She was to ride in front of him. She shivered as his arms came around her to hold her in place. She had never been held so close to any man before. It all added to the feeling of discomfort at the secret visit that was being made. And yet… she had spoken true when she had told Mohammed that she would comply with the wishes of her betrothed, and since this was his command… that she meet with the woman he considered to be his wife… 

The journey was arduous, so soon after her long ride from the Twelfth tribe. Even sitting side saddle was a little painful. She also found that she was tired after a long day full of meetings and trying to become accustomed to her new surroundings. 

In spite of her discomfort she was almost asleep when Rashid pulled the horse to a stop beside a tent that appeared to have materialised out of the desert. 

Ardeth's brother-in-law came to the side of the horse to help her down, just as Ardeth came from inside the tent. She had not even noticed his horse, hobbled beside the canvas structure. Without a word he held out his hand to her and swallowing hard, but none the less obedient, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her toward the tent. It was cold, and away from the warmth of another person she shivered. 

"You will be warmer inside," he said, and she thanked him quietly, astounded that he had even noticed the shiver. 

The soft sand underfoot became firmer as they neared the tent, and all too soon they had reached the doorway. He stretched out a hand and held it aside for her to go through, and framed in the doorway she could see a woman rocking a young child in her lap. 

The woman looked up then and smiled, but it was a smile that was full of sadness in the deep brown of her eyes. 

"Thank you, Ardeth," she said. Her voice was light, but rich and smooth, like a melody against the slight moaning sound of the wind that seemed to match her mood. "We will be all right." 

Beside her, Ashna felt Ardeth move only slightly, and from the corner of her eye she saw him lower his head in obedience to his wife's request to be left alone with her, and then he was gone, and the doorway to the tent fell back to shut out the cold desert air. 

"Peace be upon you," the woman said as she laid the child gently onto the skins and covered her, before turning to face Ashna. 

"And upon you also, Honoured Sayyadina, by the grace of Allah," she replied respectfully. She was aware that her voice must be shaking as much as she noticed she was when she held out her hands toward Ardeth's wife. The small woman slipped her fingers into her hands, and she bowed low over them. "It is an honour to meet you." 

"The honour is mine." The woman gently nudged against her shoulders with their joined hands, to encourage her to rise, "But please, can we not dispense with these formalities and meet as sisters?" 

Surprised, Ashna straightened up still further. The other woman was looking at her, trying to smile through the awkwardness that she could see in her eyes. 

"O…of course," she stammered. 

"My name is Meirionnydd Evans," she said. "Meiri." 

"I am Ashna," she answered. "Ashna al-Tahrani." 

"You look cold Ashna," Meiri said. "Come closer to the fire to get warm." 

"Thank you," she said and moved toward the small fire burning in the hearth below the vent in the canvass, and settled herself beside where Meiri had sat down. "You have a beautiful daughter." 

Meiri turned her head to watch her daughter sleeping and reached out absently to caress her hair. Ashna noticed she closed her eyes as she did so. Her heart twisted in her chest. How could she take him away from such a gentle woman, even for just a little while? The knotted feeling became a sudden ache of longing for a love as strong as they must have to bear living so far apart from each other. 

"I am… sorry, Meiri, I…" 

"Hush, Ashna." Meiri reached out a hand to carefully unhook her veil and then she cupped her hand around the side of her face. "You must not think of such things." 

"But he… he said you are his life," she closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the gentle nature of this woman, whose life she was tearing in two. 

"As he is mine," Meiri answered and her voice shook slightly. "It is why I wanted to meet with you." 

** 

He walked slowly toward the fire that Rashid and Tarek had started a little way from the tent, worried about leaving the two of them together and not knowing what kind of conversation might be going on; what kind of questions and answers were being asked and answered. 

"A cold night for such an undertaking," Tarek greeted him. "I go to watch." 

"Thank you, Tarek." Ardeth knew that he was not going because he felt the need to watch the small camp, but that he had sensed that Ardeth needed to talk, and that, close as they were since he had married Karida, Rashid was closer. 

"How is she?" Rashid asked as he lowered himself to the sand beside his warrior brother. 

"Afraid," he answered. 

Rashid sighed. "I meant Meiri," he said. 

"As did I." Ardeth picked up a hand full of sand and let it run through his fingers. "She had a vision of some kind before we began our journey. She says it was nothing, but I am certain there are things she is not saying." 

"She will not want to say anything to pressure you further. You know that." Rashid turned to look at Ardeth. "And what of you, my friend?" 

"Rashid, I…" he could not find the words to describe the turmoil in his heart. He sighed and put his head into his hands. "I cannot stand this pain I am causing." 

"What about the pain you are caused, Ardeth?" His friend put a hand onto his shoulder. "You were forced into this arrangement and I know you would not even have contemplated this if there were not some very good reason for…" 

"The Medjai, Rashid. What reason is there ever?" he answered. 

"What are they demanding of you now? You have a wife and heir." Rashid shook his head. "And it is not you that causes this pain, my friend. It is the ones that have forced your hand. Do not take the blame for this on your own shoulders." 

"What am I to do though?" he turned to look at his friend. "Either way two of us get hurt more than I can bear to imagine. For my part, as First Medjai I must put the good of the tribes first. This is not the first time I have hurt because of that, nor do I suspect, will it be the last. But for Meiri and Ashna? Why should either of them suffer because of these ridiculous machinations?" 

"May I speak… honestly?" Rashid said in a hesitant voice that made Ardeth blink in surprise. 

"Always, my Brother," he answered. 

"I have long believed that the Elders have had far too much power in the tribes." He looked back into the fire then. "You are First Medjai and yet they question you at every turn, and what they have done here is inexcusable. It was done simply because they do not like Meiri or the fact that, as you said you would, you married for love, and not out of duty." 

"You may be right," he said, suddenly feeling very tired. "But the fact remains that if the commanders of the twelve tribes are not entirely comfortable with my leadership then I must reassure them that the safety and concerns of the Medjai are at the forefront of my own. It is the only choice." 

"No," Rashid said. "There is another." 

Ardeth met his friend's eyes for a very long time. The fire reflecting off his brown orbs echoed the raging emotions in his own heart. Rashid was suggesting abdication and right at that moment it felt like a tempting solution… but the ease with which he considered it, told him at once that it was not the way. It would be like giving in to demands of those that were holding his heart to ransom. 

"No." he said at last. "Would you truly want the likes of Mohammed in command of the Twelve Tribes?" 

"I would want my friend happy, not with his heart torn in two." Rashid answered. "As for that viper, you already know what I think!" 

** 

The eyes that fluttered closed under her touch were light brown and rimmed with concern. Her face was oval, the nose slender without being sharp and her full lips all added together to make a very beautiful, if young woman, but the beauty she had seen was not just on the surface. That Ashna had shown such concern, had been about to apologise for intruding into her life with Ardeth, showed her that she was also gentle, kind and considerate. 

"You wanted to be sure that I was good enough for him?" The girl asked a question that could have spoken in an entirely different manner. Her voice held the same tone of regret. 

Meiri shook her head. "I needed to know that you would care for him as I have tried to do. I needed my mind to be at rest with that at least. I see now… I think you will." 

"Meiri, there is something I do not understand…" Ashna looked away, as if she were embarrassed to ask. 

"Tell me," she said. 

"How is it that… I mean why are you not…" 

"Why did I leave?" she finished the question for her. "It's a long story." 

"Do we have time? I would like to understand." Ashna asked boldly. "It is so clear that you both love each other like no other… I cannot see how such a love would allow you to part in the way that you have." 

"For the Medjai," she answered. "What other reason is there?" 

_"Meiri, no! I will not allow it!" It was the first time he had ever raised his voice to her in all the time they had been together and she backed up a step and almost tripped over the low table in the main room of their tent. "I will not allow them to send you away as though you were NOTHING to me."_

_"They do not, Ardeth," she answered. "But they are right. Since I have been at your side you have lost more battles than you have won; the date harvest all but failed this season and yesterday Leah delivered a child that lived only minutes before its infant heart stopped."_

_He sighed then. He knew about Leah, and had heard the whispers and the rumours that were already circulating – that it was because she allowed the "Usertim Witch" to be present at the birth of her son._

_"You did not cause Leah's misfortune. She herself does not blame you – and asks you to visit with her more often. Meiri, you must not allow them to convince you that this is anything other than coincidence." He took her hands and drew her closer then. In spite of telling herself that she would not crumble, she pressed herself against him as much as the bulge in her belly would allow._

_The child would be born soon, their second… if it survived._

_"You fear for our child?" he asked as though he had read her mind._

_"Ardeth, what if they are right – the Elders? What if it's not just coincidence and it IS because we have broken the taboos set by Sekhemkare?" she pulled away from him then and turned to fix him with an imploring look. "If I went…"_

_"You are going nowhere!" he said firmly. "I will not have my child born away from this Oasis, and my son needs his mother."_

"But as time passed, and more and more problems were experienced in all of the tribes the whispers got louder, and the Elder's more insistent. In the end… well I don't know exactly what happened," Meiri wiped away the tears as she came to the end of the telling. "But in the end, six months after Khalidah was born, just after Suhayl turned two years old, things got to be so difficult that he said I would be safer if I were not at the Oasis and took me to the place I now call home." She skirted round the truth. 

_Ardeth came into the tent running and skidded to a halt, dropping to his knees beside the bed. Karida came in close behind still trying to tell him that she needed to rest. She did need to rest. She felt bone weary and utterly dejected._

_"Ardeth," she croaked, her voice still hoarse from the attack._

_"Who did this, hayati?" he asked, gently picking her up into his embrace._

_"Ardeth!" Karida warned him, but he ignored her._

_"I don't know. I didn't see who it was," she sobbed against his shoulder. "All I know is that someone grabbed me around the throat and tried to drag me away. I fought, I did fight…"_

_"I know, my heart," he breathed against her hair._

_"And I called for help," she started crying again. "But no one came. They didn't hear…"_

_He stiffened then…_

She was so caught up in her painful misery that she did not register it until later… until he told her that she would be safer away from the settlement… that he believed that no one had come because they had been told to stay away. 

"Meirionnydd…" Ashna moved a little closer then and awkwardly put a timid arm around her shoulders. "I didn't know… I'm sorry." 

"It isn't something we can prove," she said, very quietly. "If we could, I think Ardeth would have acted before now." 

"I know he would," Ashna told her, moving away a little. "He loves you very much. I cannot imagine being a part of that love." 

"Only promise me that you will care for him, and for my son," she said, fixing Ashna with a tearful but searching expression. 

"I…" she faltered, and Meiri reached out to grasp her hand. "I will not come between you, Meiri. I once dreamed, for myself, of a love like the one you share with Ardeth." 

"Then you understand..." She got up then. "Veil yourself, little sister." 

She walked to the door and called for Ardeth to return, then turned to check that Ashna had done as she had bidden. The girl was veiled, but was sitting beside Khalidah who had stirred when her mother shouted. She was stroking her fingers through the child's hair to soothe her. 

Her heart twisted round into knots and for a moment she couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. All her blood drained into her feet and she felt chilled and lost. She closed her eyes against the image and the myriad thoughts and emotions it kindled. It was a test of a kind, and she felt she had failed. 

She sighed and as if caught doing something she shouldn't Ashna moved away from Khalidah. 

"I'm sorry, she was stirring. I didn't think you would want her to start…" 

"It's all right," she answered, and held out a hand to Ashna. "Keep what has passed between us tonight in your heart. Do not speak of it with anyone." 

"I promise." Ashna told her, just as Ardeth cleared his throat outside the tent. 

"Come in, Ardeth." She moved away from the door so that he could enter. He looked very serious she thought, as he returned, and almost afraid – as though he had expected there to be trouble between them. 

"Thank you for allowing this meeting," she said to him and returned to comfort her daughter who had woken fully and was calling for her mother, but half her attention was on what passed between Ardeth and Ashna. 

"I know that you are tired," he said, and his hand almost made it to Ashna's shoulder before he turned it aside. "But you would be safer if you returned to the settlement with the others." 

"Of course," she answered. "I bow to your wisdom." 

"Then allow me to escort you to Rashid that he may see you there safely." He nodded to Meiri before holding back the door to allow her to precede him from the tent. He looked back toward her over his shoulder. "I will return." 

As the door fell closed behind him she curled around her daughter almost as though she were in great pain, as though the pain were a physical one. 

"Oh, my love!" she moaned. "How did it ever get this far?" 

She brushed back her daughter's hair and kissed the child's young face. The sleepy girl reached out her hands and wound her arms around her mother's neck. Meirionnydd held her close and closed her eyes. 

"Meiri?" His voice close beside her startled her. Had she been so lost in her pain that she did not hear him return? She opened her eyes to find him kneeling at her side looking confused and worried. 

"H-old me," she begged him. Her voice caught in her throat. 

"Dayman, hayati," he whispered. Gently he lifted the now sleeping child from her arms and set her down on the small bed at the side of theirs. When he returned to her he gathered her close and she wept against him. 

"Please do not cry, my love. We can end this now, all you need do is say." 

She cleared her throat and tried to stop crying, but failed as he eased her away so that she could see into his eyes. 

"The Medjai are needed, more so now than ever they were… I cannot let the tribes tear themselves apart simply because they will not listen to their First Medjai." 

"Forgive me," he craved. 

"She is a beautiful and gentle girl, Ardeth," she said through her tears, giving him her answer without saying the words. She felt his understanding in the way he held her more tightly against him, and the way his head turned away from her for a second. 

"Meiri," he breathed. "You are, and always will be my life. Nothing will ever change that. You _do not_ have to do this." 

"Oh, my heart, if only that were true," she said. "But we both knew, from the moment the question was asked what the answer would be." 

"I will…" his voice cracked and a sob wracked his body. "Sweet Allah, my love I cannot _do_ this." 

"Ardeth," she reached up and brushed her fingers through his hair, both of them crying now. "There is nothing… no other way." 

He leaned down to capture her lips in a tearful kiss. It felt too much like goodbye and she tore her lips away from his. 

"I can't!" she sobbed. "Please don't… I can't…" 

"I will ask Rashid to… to watch for your safety when I cannot," he whispered against her hair, pulling her in close again. "But I will never let you go, Meiri. Even when I am not with you…" 

She pushed at him. "You must love her as your wife, Ardeth; the wife I cannot be." 

"And I will," he said in a voice broken with fresh tears. "But I cannot and _will_ not cast you from my heart, Meirionnydd. You are my life. Without you, I am nothing. If it comes to a choice between knowing your love and…" 

"No, Ardeth," she pressed her hand over his heart. "You know that I am always with you… you will always know my love… even when it cannot be…" 

"Your love gave me life, Meirionnydd," he whispered. "And I promise you… one day, I will bring you home." 


	4. Staring Into the Abyss

Angel of the Heart 4 

Chapter 4

  
  
  


"What do you mean _closing the investigation_?" Rick almost choked on the words of disbelief. 

"Mister O'Connell, it's been over three weeks since your wife went missing. We've searched all the surrounding countryside and all the police forces in the country have been alerted as to her description." He gave an apologetic look his way that Rick completely ignored. "There's really nothing else we can do." 

"You told me to stay out of this." His anger rose. "In fact you _threatened_ that if I didn't you'd arrest me and now you tell me there's nothing you can do?" 

"I'm sorry, sir…" 

"Sorry?" He leaped to his feet. "And what about my suggestion that there may have been foul play of some kind?" 

"There was simply no evidence that there was anyone else involved." The officer's voice was carefully subdued and the normally gentle Rick found himself fighting with the urge to punch the man in the face. Of course there was no evidence… they had left it so damned long to check, even when he had told them almost the very next day. 

He knew Evy, she would definitely not have just upped and run away… not even in the state of mind that they were saying she'd been in the day she'd disappeared, and the more he thought about it, the more he was sure that there was something going on. Someone else had to be involved. 

A sudden horrible thought surged into his mind. _The artefacts!_ One in particular came to the fore… the handle from the Sistrum of Isis. It was part of a powerful artefact that, when assembled, had the power to return the dead to life. If someone had found out about that… 

Quickly he got to his feet, almost forgetting the police officer that was sitting looking up at him with a puzzled expression on his face. 

"Was there something else, sir?" he asked. 

"What? No… no I just…" Rick tried to think of something to cover his quick movements. Apparently the policeman thought he was acting out of confused grief, for he too stood and put a very sympathetic expression on his face. 

"I understand how difficult this is for you… how unfair it all must seem, but we simply can't take up any more of police resources searching for your wife." He looked embarrassed as he continued, "Likely she'll turn up soon." 

He didn't think so. In fact the more he thought about it, the more he cursed himself for allowing their threats, and their gentle words of reassurance to blind him to the probability that his wife had not, as they insisted, simple escaped from the hospital, but that she had been taken from there. A trip to the cellar would either confirm his suspicions or would prove his fears unfounded. 

"You…" he started. "You're probably right, officer. And thank you for coming by so late in the day to let me know," he added, glancing at the clock that said it was fast approaching nine in the evening. 

"It's no trouble. It was on my way home." 

The policeman gave him another look and then excused himself and started toward the door. Rick shuddered when he thought he saw pity. He forced himself to wait until he could no longer hear the sound of the car's engine before he turned and virtually raced for the door to the cellar, and threw himself down the cellar steps. 

** 

He was Suti to her Nebkhat, magnificent in his strength and possession of her. Many women of strength such as Miranda would have bristled at the way he treated the women in his life – and she knew there were many others than she – eight others a least, but she understood. A man whose appetite was as dark as his needed the attentions of many, but his heart held place for few. She was the one. 

She heard the soft pad of his footsteps behind her as she sat pulling a brush through her hair. It was not particularly long, but then it did not need to be since she spent most of her life shrouded in the mystery of blue silks that almost covered her from head to foot, yet left her equally as open to the admiring gaze of any man fool enough to look on her. Yes, she was the one; the perfect match for the dark soul that Ananiah Roche had increasingly become. 

"Always so beautiful, my little goddess," he purred, sweeping her hair to one side he planted an open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck. 

"Only for you, divine husband," she answered, and turned in her seat to face him. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, drawing her to her feet. 

"Or for any other I choose for you to serve," his voice held a hard, dark edge as he released her from his embrace. 

She lowered her eyes in obedience, but it was all an act, a charade and they both knew it. They thrived on it in fact. 

"My husband is most wise," she agreed. 

"I have received a telegram. We may begin!" His eyes blazed with excitement when she looked back up at him in surprise. "They have closed their investigation. They believe she remains in England." 

"And what of her husband?" she asked. "Surely _he_ will not so easily give up the search for her." 

"Undoubtedly he will not," Ananiah answered. "And _that_ will provide us with victory. He will enlist the one we need as help. When that time comes you will go to him, tempt him… lure him with the dark promises of your flesh and not return to me until you have Anpu safe within the etheric template of your body." 

"And then?" she ran her long, manicured nails over his exposed skin at the top of his robes. 

"Then we will see about making the etheric god a thing of flesh," he captured her hands and brought them to his lips, sensually taking each finger, one at a time in a most suggestive way into his mouth. 

"And what of the woman?" She asked, letting her head fall back as the sensations of pleasure stirred her body. "Will she give us that which we need?" 

"She has already given us a most important treasure," he said around her fingers, "She will lead us to the rest. We will make sure of it. The Mirror of our Lady will make sure of it." 

"May I see it?" she whispered, pressing herself against him. "May I see the Mirror?" 

"It is dangerous," he chuckled, finally ceasing the caress of his tongue around her fingers, "It will bring to you all those dark corners of your life that you run from; all the nightmares that would wake you screaming as though you were a little girl…" 

"Give me that pleasure," she demanded and pulled her hand from his to snatch up her gauzy blue veil. She added with a whine, "I _tire_ of the waiting. Three long weeks – I do not understand why we had to wait." 

"I told you," he took her hand and began to lead her from his chambers out into the main temple. 

The guards came instantly to attention. They were similarly clothed in midnight blue, the colour of the Order she so happily served. Their robes were of heavy woollen fabrics, not unlike some of the older, more mysterious desert tribes, of which she knew so little and to which, if all went according to Ananiah's plan, she would bring herself to lure the Aesir Shadowed One to savour the pleasures of her flesh and create the divine Child Anpu, that she and Ananiah would make flesh. 

She shivered in anticipation of that moment and opened her eyes to find she was standing in front of the now uncovered mirror. It was black, totally dark and drew her in until she was sure she must be one with the shadowy reflection she could see in it – herself and yet so magnificently malevolent that she felt the thrill of fear unlocking parts of her only before touched by Ananiah himself… 

_She straddled his naked body and sank down onto him as he breathed exotic words against her neck between hot kisses. One of his hands buried itself in her hair, while the other wrapped around her waist to pull her more firmly against him._

_"You tease me," he growled, this time in heavily accented English and rolled over, so that he was over her, so that he could claim her as she knew he wanted. His dark curls fell to shield them as he gave himself into her body with such passionate emotion._

_She gasped, and her arms around him became tense for all of a heartbeat, before she relaxed and pulled him again toward her. She moaned as he claimed her a second time._

The sudden unexpected rush of fulfilment through her body shattered the vision, and she staggered back slightly. Ananiah caught her around the waist, breathing deeply as he settled his head next to hers. She flushed beneath her veils to know that he would smell her suddenly fulfilled arousal. 

"What did you see?" he asked, his voice low. He nipped the side of her neck and she moaned. 

"She saw the making of my little brother… of my son." 

The high, young voice speaking in the Ancient tongue interrupted the moment and Miranda felt Ananiah move away from her. She turned to watch the scene that followed. 

The little girl wore the same blue silk fabric in layers around her as all the women of the Order. They floated as she moved in the way small children did and although not more than a few years old, she commanded the attention of every living thing in the temple room, and conducted herself in the ways of one with infinite years behind them… old beyond her time. 

"My darling daughter, Little Nebkhat…" Ananiah reached her side and stretched out a hand to caress her face. "You should be sleeping." 

Miranda felt a pang of angry sadness shoot through her, a feeling of pain more acute after the pleasure she had only moments ago been feeling, for the loss of the child she had born those few years before. She covered her empty womb with her hands as though she could heal the ache inside. 

The girl looked up at her, open contempt on her tiny young face and quick as the Nile in flood, she slashed a hand forward to push away Ananiah's hand from her face. 

"Do you think I don't feel what you do?" Nebkhat snapped, both to him, but Miranda thought, more for her. The child's small feet brought her closer. "How you sate yourself on visions and on the touch of his hand." 

"My Lady," she lowered her head but refused to abase herself before a mere child. 

"You should have a care what you desire." The child took her hand and dragged her around the face the Mirror once again. She waved a hand that was clad in razor tipped finger rings that fitted just beneath her nails. The image in the mirror blurred… 

_"Give me back my son!" It was as if she had walked into a huge black wall. The hands that gripped her shoulders were uncompromising in their strength and determination. He shook her slightly._

_"I cannot," she whispered._

_"You have one day," he shook her again, "before I return. I will raze this place to the ground and everything in it to find my son! Everything… do you understand?"_

_"I cannot give you what I do not have…" she whispered. "That which has never been mine."_

** 

Rick virtually tripped in his haste to get down the steps to the cellar. He kicked at the few boxes in his way at the foot of the stairs and heard something crash to the floor. No doubt another priceless artefact destroyed in the O'Connells seemingly never ending quest. 

He'd wanted to stop after Ahm Shere... hell he'd wanted to stop before that, but she'd persuaded him just one more time. And then when she'd heard that there were excavations uncovering a temple that may have been the legendary temple that the Gods themselves had frequented she had _insisted_ he take her to Egypt to see for herself. If only he had been stronger, able to refuse her, then none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have had problems, and he wouldn't have lost her. He blamed himself. 

By the time he reached the safe he had tears in his eyes that he wiped away angrily. Who else was there to blame? He should have seen the problems in the way she was behaving... should have known the stress of what had happened to Jonathan would affect the pregnancy that she hadn't even seen fit to _tell_ him about. 

And then the depression.... It was little things at first and he'd missed them, put it down to her grief and expected that any day they would wake up and she would be the same old Evy… bubbly, excitable and beautiful. 

He opened the safe and pulled out a small case from inside and shuddered as he remembered what had been within the case... 

_He woke to find her gone - not so unusual these days as she was still having trouble sleeping, but when he woke again an hour later and saw the light from the landing filtering under the door he started to worry. He got up and threw on a dressing gown._

_Lights in the house provided a trail of breadcrumbs that led him to the cellar door. It was ajar, and feeling suddenly uneasy... almost afraid he pulled it open and started down the steps._

_"Evy?" he called softly. "Honey are you down here?"_

_He reached the bottom of the stairs and became aware of a strange noise, half way between a whine and a growl. His blood thickened and he started to find that it was hard to breathe, because the tone was unmistakeably that of Evy's voice._

_"Evy where are you?" he called, starting to heave at the many boxes that littered the cellar and trying to follow the sound toward his wife. Maybe she heard something… someone and had come down to investigate. Maybe she'd been hurt by an intruder. Maybe she'd just fallen and gotten hurt - God knew there were enough things in the dimly lit cellar of their country mansion to do that. When she didn't answer him straight away he called to her again getting more and more frantic._

_Nothing could have hurt him more than the truth of what he saw when he found her cowering in the corner between the cellar wall and a large packing crate._

_"Honey, what'cha doing?" he asked gently crouching down to look at her. She was hunched over, her long hair had fallen forward and hid her face and her chest. In fact all he could see was the dark curtain of her hair. She barely looked up at him, just continued the unmistakable sounds of distress. "Honey?"_

_"Rick..." it was so faint he might have missed it, as it came on the edge of the primal sound. He eased himself closer and then stopped in panic. She held the curved knife, the black handle inlaid with gold and Lapis Lazuli... but she was holding it against the skin of her arm, already patterned with bleeding cuts._

_"Evy!" he snatched it from her hand and tossed it into some forgotten corner of the cellar as he pulled her into the circle of his arms, moaning sounds of denial that she could have done what she had._

_"It's supposed to give life, Rick..." she said pulling at her skin until fresh blood flowed down her arm. He grasped her hands to stop her from hurting herself anymore. "How could I..."_

He glanced into the corner of the cellar where the drama that ended in Evy being hospitalised for severe depression had taken place. It was shadowed and dark... a reflection of the darkness that had descended on the O'Connells since their return from Egypt that last time. Since the ancient artefact had been found, and the events that had wrought had come to pass, things had gone from bad to worse. 

He only hoped - against all hope he ever held - that it wasn't as bad as he feared. Putting the case to one side, he picked up the key that had been concealed against the base of it, and approached the small door to the room in the cellar that housed the O'Connell's more important finds, including some of those they had brought back from Hamunaptra after their first encounter with Imhotep. 

As he neared the door his foot encountered the metal of the crowbar that had been used to pry it open. His heart sank still further and he found himself wishing that he had stopped to pick up his guns from the case behind the library bookshelves. Even as the thought came into his mind he knew it was ridiculous. Whoever it was that had broken in was long gone, as was Evy. 

If she was even still alive. 

He had never failed her so badly. 

He didn't need to look to know that it was gone, but he did anyway. He almost ran to the wall and crouched to pull away the loosened brick. His fingers found it easily, because it had not been pushed all the way back in and he tore it free almost stuffing his hand within. He relaxed slightly as his fingers touched the soft fabric that they'd used to wrap the sistrum's handle. When he pulled it out, it was empty. 

Confirmation of his worst fears stole the strength from his legs and he fell back unceremoniously to sit leaning against the corner of the room. 

"Evy," he moaned, and hit his head slightly against the wall. "Please God let her still be okay…" 

He could not have said how long he sat there, lost in his despair… lost in self recriminations but something inside him suddenly snapped. Even if she was dead, he had to find her body, to bring it home… to bury her along with the rest of her family. 

With a huge sigh, and a look of determination on his face that matched the last time that he had lost her, back at Ahm Shere, he dragged himself to his feet. He was going back; back to Egypt. He was going to find the ones that had snatched her from his life, and take them to pieces… slowly. 

** 

Ten years… 

Feeling the nausea rising again she lowered the cup and swallowed hard to make sure the mint tea stayed down. The cup slipped slightly in her gloved hands, and idly she wondered if the mendhi might have smudged. She must not be sick. It wouldn't do for her to embarrass herself in front of the other women by submitting to the fear that had been building for the last ten years. With one last look around the women's tent, at all the other women assigned as part of her bridal party, she put down the cup and closed her eyes. Still feeling sicker than ever she lay back against the bed. 

_"Ashna, come here."_

_It was her mother's voice and she sounded excited, or worried… perhaps both. She looked up from where she was sitting with the other girls of the settlement and saw her mother beckoning to her from the doorway of their home._

_A little while before, a man – a warrior from the First Tribe – had come to their tent, and she had been sent away. It was business between him and her father, her mother had said. Now she was being called back._

_She knew better than to delay. Her father was not a man to be kept waiting. She came to her mother's side and was brought into the tent to face her father, and the other warrior._

_He was not a young warrior, she could see that much by the lines around his eyes, but neither was he old and yet he had the smell of fetid decay around him somehow that soured their home. She shivered, with the perception of a child, the man frightened her and intimidated she backed up a step._

_"Ashna, my child." Her father reached out and drew her closer to the man. "This is a warrior of the First Tribe. We have been speaking together through the morning and I have good news for you."_

_"Father?" she questioned._

_"We have agreed your match. You are to marry the First Medjai."_

With a cry, and covered in a sheen of sweat, Ashna woke suddenly and sat up. It was still dark, and for that she breathed a sigh of relief. For morning would bring the first day of her wedding to Ardeth… a day from which there would be no turning back. 

Lying in the dark, staring into the even darker ceiling she couldn't help but think of Meirionnydd. Tears came to her eyes when she remembered the way her voice had cracked as Meiri made her promise to care for Ardeth and Suhayl. 

She was to be his wife, but she felt like an intruder. 

He had promised that he would give her as much of himself as he could, but that meant taking something away from Meiri. She did not want to do that to a woman that could have been so dreadfully horrible to her, but who had shown her only love. 

She could not understand why the others had any problem with a woman who so obviously had so much to give. 

Curling up on her side, she grabbed the blanket and pulled it around her, to try and comfort the sudden chill in the pit of her stomach. How could she match that for Ardeth? How could she be anything other that a hollow excuse of a wife? 

"Ash?" Her sister's voice beside her startled her. 

"I'm all right," she whispered, hoping that her cry had not woken any of the others, particularly not Karida, who would more easily see thought the lie she told. "It was just a bad dream. My mind won't rest – it's just the excitement." 

"Oh Ashna," her sister grasped her arms excitedly. "You are so lucky. He's more handsome than ever I imagined he would be." 

"Abra, go back to sleep," she snapped, and then softening added, "I don't want you with huge dark circles under your eyes on my wedding day. How will you impress his men if you do?" 

She sighed. Her wedding day… a day denied to Meiri with the man she loved and who so clearly loved her. How could she hope to touch that place that in Ardeth's heart left empty by that denial? How could she even think to try? 

It would take only one word to change it all… and such a short word, but so difficult to give… she wondered if she might have that strength, to give Meiri back her life – and to reclaim her own. 

** 

"Jonathan!" Rick burst into his brother-in-law's suite. 

"Rick what a pleasant surprise," Jonathan's words slurred, and Rick knew without seeing the bottle clutched against his chest, that he was drunk again. He sighed and moved closer to snatch the bottle from the other man's hands. 

"Hey, that's mine!" Jonathan protested. 

"Get dressed." He ignored the matter of the whiskey's rightful owner and stalked into the bathroom. Turning on the cold tap in the bath, he pushed the plug home. 

"Are we going out?" There was a note of nervous hope in his brother-in-law's voice. 

"And pack," he instructed, dragging a suitcase out of the nearby closet. 

"Oh, oh," Jonathan staggered slightly as he got up from the bed. "Going away." 

He reached for the bottle that Rick still held in his hand. Rick moved it aside and caught Jonathan as he almost fell. 

"I said get dressed," he said. 

"And pack, yes," Jonathan followed him toward the bathroom. "Erm… Rick…? Where are we going?" 

Rick turned and fixed him with an uncompromising stare and then upended the whiskey bottle over the porcelain sink. 

"Hey, oh Rick old boy… What'd you go and do that for?" 

"Because you've had quite enough already," Rick shuddered as a flash of déjà vu went through him. 

"I have not," Jonathan said indignantly. "I'll have you know I…" 

Rick dropped the bottle and grabbed him by the arm. He pulled him suddenly toward the bath and stuffed his head down into the now filled bath full of cold water. After a moment he pulled him back out, spluttering and coughing. 

"Sober yet?" he asked sarcastically. 

"Rick, I…" Rick cut him off by pushing him back down into the water. In the next moment he pulled him up a second time. He gasped "Rick wait! Why are you doing this?" 

"The handle is gone, Jonathan and Evy is missing." Rick snapped, bunching his muscles in preparation for dunking his drunkard brother-in-law for the third time. He needed him sober, and fast. He needed his help, but more than that, he wasn't going to leave him behind to drink himself into an early grave. "Does that suggest something to you?" 

"No, I… all right, all right, Rick wait…" Jonathan pulled out of his grasp, and stumbled back to find a towel to try and dry off his soaked head. Rick started to relax a little bit, confident that the other man was now at least sober enough to listen to what he had to say. "I hear you, but what can we do?" 

"Get dressed," Rick answered. "And pack. We're going to Egypt." 

** 

Jonathan suddenly wished he was still drunk. Even hearing the words turned his legs to water and the entire contents of his insides to mush. He couldn't go back there, simply couldn't. 

"And what would we _do_ Rick?" he answered, sounding surprisingly calm and covering his shaking hands by starting to dry the water from his hair. "It'd be like looking for a particular grain of sand in the whole Sahara." 

"Ardeth. He'll help." Rick threw back the one name that Jonathan really didn't want to hear. He still had nightmares… still felt the hot blood flowing over his hand that had held the knife. In his mind he still saw the imagined vision of the Medjai leader drawing his last breath, but more than anything remembered the look in Ardeth's eyes as he had drawn the first few of his new life. 

_Ardeth walked closer and Jonathan shrank back against his sister. Weakened and fearful – and feeling guilty – he wished against all wishes that the Medjai leader, restored now to life would end his. Evy she tightened her arms around him._

_Ardeth crouched at his side, his large brown eyes showing only sympathy and compassion for him._

_"Is he going to be all right?" Ardeth asked quietly._

_"I don't know," Evy answered. Her voice trembled. He wanted to tell her he would survive, but more, he needed to tell Ardeth how very sorry he was._

_"Ardeth I'm…"_

_The Medjai laid a hand carefully onto Jonathan's shoulder. "You have been equally wronged, Jonathan. I will hear no apology." He turned his head and spoke softly in Arabic to Rashid._

The Medjai – at Ardeth's command – had given him the best of care they could. _Equally wronged,_ Ardeth had said. He wondered if Ardeth had nightmares still, about his death… some other pain that he'd caused the Medjai that he didn't yet know about, and despite the insistence that he'd nothing to apologise for, Jonathan simply didn't know if he could stand to see Ardeth again. 

"Rick I… I can't." he said softly. 

"Jonathan, she's your sister!" Rick raised his voice. "And I won't just give up on her." 

"I'm not giving up," Jonathan tried to feel angry at the accusation, but Rick was right. In a way he was giving up on her. He was a weak and worthless piece of offal that wasn't even strong enough to face his own fears to try and help her… to try and find his 'Old Mum' who had never given up on him no matter how rough things had been. 

"And what about you?" Rick grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and he started to think he was going to get another dunking. "How can you just give up on yourself like this? Maybe going back and facing this thing is exactly what you have to do." 

"I wish I could, Rick, but I…" 

"Please, Jonathan. I _need_ you there with me." Rick said softly. "Ardeth can help, sure… but he's not you. You _think_ like she does, and he might miss something that you wouldn't." 

Jonathan held his gaze for a very long time, looking deeply into the tear filled blue eyes that spoke volumes. Rick though he was going to Egypt just to bring back her body. He couldn't bear the thought. It twisted his gut in a way he'd never before been able to express. Not even the last time she had died. Then he'd had to be strong for Alex's sake. 

He sighed, and closed his eyes. Feeling more afraid than ever before in his life he answered slowly, "Well, we can't do anything till morning anyway. You need to call the school and let them know that we'll be away for a while. And you should wire Ardeth… somehow," his voice caught on the name. 

"Thank you, Jonathan," Rick answered, and drew him into an almost desperate, if rather soggy hug. 

** 

"You should be sleeping, Ardeth." Rashid walked up to stand with him on the top of the dune. "The next few days…" 

"I know, Rashid. I know," Ardeth interrupted, and turned he gaze back over the desert in a direction that would have taken him eventually to Meiri had he but started walking. He sighed. 

A gust of wind blew and he shivered. He was tired. More tired than he could ever remember being. All day had been spent greeting the officials of the twelve tribes that had come to witness his union with Ashna, including all of her family and her younger sister, who had at once become quite infatuated with him. 

He couldn't suppress the snort of bitter laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. "This is a nightmare," he said. 

"Then call it off, Ardeth. There is still time." Rashid urged and he turned to face his long time friend. He shook his head. 

"There is no more time. If I were to do that now, the Tribes would have open reason to doubt my leadership," he said. 

"The _hell_ with them!" Rashid growled, and turned an almost angry stare his way. "I told you once that if you ever did anything to hurt Meirionnydd…" 

Faster than ever before Ardeth drew his scimitar from its sheath at his waist and reversed the blade across the back of his other forearm, offering the hilt to Rashid. When his friend refused the offer he reached out and thrust the gilded handle into his hand and then put the deadly tip against his own breast. 

"Then do it Rashid!" he growled. "You think I willingly play with lives? You think I _enjoy_ this pain I feel and that I _know_ has broken her heart!" 

"Ardeth," Rashid gasped, trying to pull his hand away from the steel grip that Ardeth had on his wrist and hand. 

"You think I have the _slightest_ notion how I might give the tenderness and love I feel for Meirionnydd in even half its measure to the woman that will be my wife by Medjai law!" He pointed with one hand back towards the settlement and then let go of Rashid's hand and opened his arms out to the side. "Do it, Honoured Second. One short sharp pain for all of us now and…" 

"Enough!" Rashid flung the scimitar down the dune toward the settlement and planted both hands in the middle of Ardeth's chest, grabbing his robes to shake him. 

"Then do not think to censure me with this!" Ardeth matched his tone of angry frustration. "I came to try and find _answers_ to those questions…" his voice dropped to barely above a whisper, "but all I can feel is the terrible distance between my heart and my life." 

His balance shifted on the sand as Rashid let him go and walked away a step. He watched as the other man ran his hands over his face. The silence between them was broken only by their sighs, matched by the wind that taunted and teased in his hair. 

Eventually Rashid broke the silence. 

"I don't think there are any answers to be had," he said. Then he sighed. "Ardeth… You know how I feel, but I must say this anyway, because I do not want it hanging between us." 

"Speak, my friend." he answered tiredly. "We have been brothers for too long to let this damage our friendship." 

"I do not believe this is the right course," Rashid started slowly. "I think that you and Meiri have been manoeuvred into this from the beginning, and that in agreeing to the demands of the Elders, you are not demonstrating your strength as First Medjai, but the degree to which you can be manipulated by power hungry men who are desperate not to lose control over the lives of those under them." 

"You believe that strength would have been demonstrated by refusal? Or that I should have pushed them to recognise Meiri as my wife?" he asked. 

"Why not?" 

He looked at his friend for a long time before he said, "Because they have already tried to murder her once." 

"What!" Rashid looked at him in disbelief, and then in horror as he nodded to tell his friend that he had heard correctly. "And you have done nothing?" 

"I have no evidence." Ardeth walked down the dune to retrieve his scimitar and then to sit at the base of the rise. "If I act without it, I appear to be acting out of revenge for them refusing us the rite of marriage." 

"Who?" Ardeth shrugged, so Rashid continued, "Mohammed?" 

Still he said nothing. He shook his head to let Rashid know that he would not be naming names. 

"You want me to watch him?" 

Again, Ardeth shook his head. "He will reveal himself in time," he said. "There is something more important that I need you to do." 

"What, my friend?" 

"I need you to care for Meiri," Ardeth whispered, "Until I can find a way to be with her, or at the very least to bring her home to be with us all." 

** 

He felt like he was drowning, or suffocating, but still could not wake. It always started the same way and filled his heart with panic… as if the connection to the darkness that had made him act against the friends he loved were still there somehow. 

Unconsciously he began chanting his own name over and over again. It had helped him before… but only at first. Once the creature had got a true hold of his mind, nothing worked. 

_Jonathan…_

_The voice travelled through him like the hissing of a serpent, or the moaning of a chilling wind though a badly closed door. The darkened scene slowly faded into focus on a room piled high with gold and gems and precious artefacts._

_"Whoa," he breathed, "Do you see…?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Could we just…"_

_"No."_

_Always the answer was no… your whole life…_

It was always the alluring sibilant temptation that made him so afraid. It had been that which had caused it all in the first place, in the darkened chamber below the shrine of Osiris that had been the prison of the evils of the world as personified in Suti, at the Medjai's and Usertim's behest. 

He was like Pandora. It was he that had unleashed those evils on the world, and yet there had been no hope left trapped within the suddenly closed box. He had let them all escape, hope along with the ill. 

_"That's not true!" he cried out in his dream. "There was still hope! There is!"_

_That tortured Medjai and his Usertim whore? They are no match for me… even now events overtake them, as they do you all. You are Mine, Jonathan… you always will be. Surrender… surrender… surr…_

_"You lie!" he spat._

_Do I? They cannot help you this time… see for yourself._

_The scene dissolved again, spinning sickeningly through temples and desert plains until he found himself standing in the corner of a small dimly lit cave. It had obviously been occupied for quite some time, someone's home. Figures slept, a child and a woman, on a bed made of furs and skins, covered in the soft, dark blankets, of obvious Medjai manufacture._

_Quietly the woman slipped from the bed, trying not to disturb the still sleeping child, but obviously trying to hurry. Jonathan's breath caught in his chest as he recognised her…_

_"Meiri," he breathed._

_She half turned as though she'd heard him, but raced for a covered bucket at the side of the room. She barely made it before she sank to her knees and vomited._

_"I don't understand. Meiri, where is Ardeth?" he asked quietly, coming closer as though he could touch her. His hand passed through her body and she shivered, covering the bucket again and moving to the entrance to the cave to stare out into the lightening sky._

_"Ar-deth," she wept, holding her arms around her body as though she were cold or in great pain._

_He betrays her even now…_

_The voice was a cold whisper inside his head and Meiri spun round as though she could hear the sickening suggestion. Before another moment passed the scene faded, replaced by the inside of a Medjai tent._

_The scent of crushed desert rose petals reached his senses as he took a step forward toward the partly shrouded sleeping space. He blushed._

_They were naked… a young woman, her painted hands moving hesitantly over Ardeth's back, and no doubt that it was Ardeth from the seven rayed star between his shoulders. He moved against her and she cried out as their lovemaking began…_

_"Enough," Jonathan closed his eyes and turned away. "Lies, all lies!"_

_You know that they are not or why would then hurt you so much? The voice hissed. You are Mine, Jonathan and you will no more be powerless to prevent such an injustice. Act for me… you will act for me…_

_Together we will rid the world of this faithless Medjai._

Sweat beaded on his forehead and he turned his head from side to side. He wanted to wake, but the dream had him, grasped in the filth of its content, contaminating his mind with uncharitable thoughts. A multitude of images and myriad pains… 

_Dogs howling… no not dogs, jackals… as a woman screams in pain, caught between worlds as the pain of childbirth grips her…_

_Hearing footsteps she peeked out from his hiding place. His relief was so profound that it was almost religious when he saw the black robes of the Medjai coming down the stairs – a small, slight woman at his side…_

_A dark gloomy day… rain splattering down on a small group of mourners in a country churchyard, laying a tiny coffin into the cold clay ground…_

_The reassurances of his friend swept away by the sudden cold that pushed in through the soles of his feet, rising like sludge into his psyche_

_A woman, helpless, on her knees between two brooding Medjai, her head pressed forward, and her long hair falling to hide the tears he could hear she wept…_

_Friendly arms that grasped his shoulders, offering him safety, solace, escape…_

_"Ardeth, no please… for the love of God!" a familiar voice, also broken with the agony of tears… as a heavy blade rose slowly above the bowed head…_

_His hand came forward against a soft springing resistance of the flesh into which he plunged the knife. Hot blood flowed over his hand._

_"Jonathan…?" Ardeth's voice, horrified, confused, betrayed…_

_You see? You are mine… you will always BE mine. There is nowhere you can run from me little man… nowhere you can hide._

Crying out, and grasping the front of his chest in pain, deep emotional pain Jonathan sat up in bed, drenched and cold. Weary. He heaved, fighting not to be sick. His head pounded. He could still feel the blood on his hands, could almost see it. He rushed the to the bathroom and turned on the taps to fill the bowl with water, and as though he played the role of Lady Macbeth began to scrub away at his fingers with the nail brush, moaning in denial, until the side of his hand was raw and aching. 

Then ignoring the pain he pushed his hands into the water. 

Only Rick, pounding on the door of his room woke him properly, from the waking nightmare. 

"Oh God," he breathed as he looked at the state he'd made of his hand. "Just a minute!" he called. 

"You okay?" 

"Bad dream," he shuddered as he said the words. He'd never had worse. It was as though the thought of going back to Egypt had unlocked every fear he'd even had; as though it had poured them inside his head, just waiting to get out. 

Wrapping his sore hand in a towel he unlocked the door and pulled it open. 

"You okay?" Rick asked, concern showing clearly in his sleepy eyes, I heard you cry out." 

"Nightmares – again," he said, standing aside to let Rick into the room. 

"What did you do to your hand?" 

"I scrubbed it," he said. 

"Scrubbed?" Rick asked confused, and reached out to unwrap his hand. Jonathan winced. "Jonathan…" 

"I know, I know," he sighed. "I wasn't properly awake. I only woke up with you pounding on the door." 

"You were sleepwalking?" his brother-in-law sounded surprised. 

He nodded. "Just promise me one thing Rick," he said. 

"Anything," Rick answered. 

"We're going to put an end to it this time, right? Whoever's behind this… we're going to stop them." 

Rick nodded. "Or I'm not coming back," he said and turned away to go back to his own room. 

"And Rick?" 

"Yeah?" Rick paused in the doorway, turning his head around to meet his eyes. 

"If I start behaving like I did before…" 

"You won't." 

"If I do… Shoot me." 

Rick held his gaze for a very long time before, almost imperceptibly, he nodded, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. 

** 

He stared out into the darkness as though he could still see his friend. He had left Ardeth still sitting on the dune and almost felt as if he shared his friend's pain. 

"Come to bed, habibi." He sighed at the light and always comforting hand that his wife placed in the middle of his back. "There is nothing you can do for him and the morning must see at least one of you fresh to prevent any more pain being caused him or the tribe." 

"You see it then?" he turned and she fitted herself into his arms, and held him just as he held her. 

"Of course I see it," Ghayda answered, "How not?" 

"But I thought all the women..." he started, but she cut him off chuckling. 

"All the women were still harboured the hope that if he were rid of Meiri their First Medjai would come to their beds." She took his hand. "But I have a husband, a friend and a lover that I would change for no other, Rashid. So I can still think with my wits about me. Come inside." 

He squeezed her hand and followed her into the tent that was their home and to their bedroom. He had been on patrol before finding Ardeth still awake and miserable, and was dressed for the desert. He took off his turban and put it onto the chest that held the family's clothing. 

Almost before he turned his wife had begun loosening the knot that tied the sash around his waist. He was content at that, and knew it was not through any rush of heady passion that she acted. Their love was deeper than that, patient and fulfilling.... comforting and supportive. 

"He hurts, Ghayda," he said, continuing their former conversation. 

"Rashid, even as the Warrior Brother that you are to him you cannot keep it from him. Of course he hurts... you know as well as I that the Elders will do all that they can to keep him from Meiri, wherever he has her hidden." She folded his sash, and took his outer robe from him when he shrugged it off. "We have always known, you and I that when Ardeth married it would be because he loved his bride, and now they give him to a girl - and make no mistake, hayati, she is a girl... a slip of a child with no more about her in the ways of love and living as a wife than our daughter Nabilah has." 

"Ghayda..." he chastised softly, not really meaning to stop her from speaking her mind. 

"I do not say this to put the girl down, husband. I like Ashna... and think I must champion her against Karida, at least for a while." Her swift fingers untied his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. 

He smiled, knowing what her next action would be. Sure enough she ran her warm hands up from his stomach to his chest, where the newly inked and reworked tattoos covered the scars of his encounter with Anck-Su-Namun some three years before. The palms of her hands covered them and she placed a light kiss against his heart, between her two hands. It was their own private ritual, and it both soothed his troubles somewhat and stirred feelings of desire for her. 

"But still, he does not love her and while I am sure he will come at least to care for her, he will feel the guilt for not being able to give her the love she doubtless deserves." Rashid felt cold when she finally moved out of the circle of his arms and her head came away from his chest. He looked down at her as she smiled gently. "You are so alike in that, it is a wonder to me that no one sees the truth." 

"No one sees," He shuddered as he spoke. "And none must ever. Not even Ardeth." 

"Would it be so bad, for him to know?" Ghayda drew him toward the bed and knelt behind him with her arms around his shoulders as he took off his boots and then his pants. 

He closed his eyes, thinking about the knowledge he had carried for the last twenty nine years of his life. 

"Yes, Ghayda," he said at last, turning to lift off the light robe she had put on as she came to fetch him to their bed. "It would." 


	5. One Little Word

Angel of the Heart 5 Authors note: As before (Power Is), I have taken a mix of cultures to make up the ceremonies of the Medjai, who, while they have an Islamic base (particularly to their wedding ceremony – and thanks to Maryam and Yasmin for information concerning the asking of the question three times to both bride and groom), other cultural niceties have been added to the melting pot. No offence is intended to anyone. 

Chapter 5 

  
  


The next time she woke, although it was still dark, she could see through the open doorway of the women's tent that the horizon was beginning to get lighter. Day was dawning. Around her, others were rising and lighting lamps. There was a lot to be done. 

"Ash, are you awake?" her sister's quiet but excited little voice came from one of the dimly lit patches that were springing up around the tent. 

"Yes," she answered. She sat up slowly, feeling the mendhi paste crack under the gloves that covered her hands. 

"Good," a much less friendly voice said. "Because you must bathe so that we can prepare you." 

"Of course, Karida," she said. "I was just rising." 

"Let me do that," A voice said from the doorway. "You can concentrate on readying the women of his family." 

Ashna turned to look at the newcomer. She was small, slight, but powerful in the way she carried herself with confidence. Her long hair was straight, and loose it spilled from beneath the veil she had worn to cross the settlement. In the lamplight it showed a hint of gold amid the dark brown, as though somewhere in her past was a heritage that was not entirely Medjai. Her face, uncovered now that she had reached her destination was small and expressive, but set in a determined expression of challenge to the younger Medjai woman she was addressing. 

"I can manage, Ghayda," Karida answered, pulling back the blankets and uncovering Ashna's bandaged feet. 

"Karida," Ghayda came and took the other woman's hands, this time her expression was gentle, concerned and loving. "I did not suggest otherwise, but think… You have carried your child full seven moons at least. Today would _not_ be the day for it to be born I think." 

Ashna watched nervously as a stranger to her came to champion her against the woman that would be her sister-in-law. Ghayda laid her hand flat over Karida's swollen belly and the younger woman sighed and leaned slightly against her. 

"We are all sisters here," Ghayda whispered the words to Karida and kissed the side of her head. Ashna was sure that she hadn't intended her words to be heard by many. "Do not hate her simply because of something that must be. You were one of the lucky ones. Your brother saw your love for Tarek and yielded to it…" 

"Eventually…" Karida sighed. 

"She must find a way to love someone she does not know," Ghayda glanced at her then. "And whom she knows loves another. She will need us." 

Ashna almost flinched as Karida also looked her way. Her eyes, so like Ardeth's, bore into her as if searching for the truth of Ghayda's words. She tugged at her gloved hands trying not to look away from the other woman's gaze. 

"Make your peace with her, Karida. Today of all days let the women stand as one." Ghayda finished speaking and nudged Ardeth's sister toward Ashna. 

Slowly Karida held out her hand toward her. "Forgive me, Ashna," she said quietly. "Let me help you to be ready." 

Ashna recognised what a huge effort Karida was making, and that she knew Ghayda was right in what she said. She stood up and took Karida's hand, allowing the other woman to embrace her lightly. 

"I would like that," she said, somewhat tearfully. 

** 

"May we come in?" Rashid coughed politely outside the doorway to Ardeth's tent with Tarek by his side. When Ardeth answered the two men went inside. 

"Did you find much rest, my friend?" Tarek beat him to asking the question. 

"A little," Ardeth answered, glancing over at the black and silver robes that he would wear for the first two days of his wedding. "Not much." 

"Ardeth…" Rashid sighed. 

"Please, do not… Rashid I know your feelings," he held up his hand, "Yours too, Tarek, but there is nothing to be done. When the question is asked, I will answer it, yes." 

"So you found answers to your concerns then?" he asked, a little more sarcastically than he intended. "You know now how you might fulfil your promises to Meiri and to Ashna?" 

"I will do all that I am able until I find a way round this." Ardeth sighed and then implored his friend, "Rashid, please understand…" 

"I do understand, Ardeth," he said. "I understand that there are things going on that are being kept from even you and I and that events are being manipulated to suit the whim of individuals and not for the good of the Tribes." 

"You should have been First Medjai perhaps!" Ardeth snapped. 

Rashid looked away as Ardeth stood up and paced toward him, looking back only when his friend clasped him by the shoulders. 

"What is _wrong_ with you Rashid…? Always before so level headed… so understanding…" 

"I said," Rashid did not give an inch, "I do understand… but still I believe it is wrong… that there has to be another way." 

"There is not," Ardeth said quietly, mournfully. As he let go Rashid turned away. 

"She saved my life, Ardeth," he matched Ardeth's tone. "Twice… and she returned you to all of us, and this is how we repay her…? This is how we honour our debts to her? It is wrong, and nothing will change that." 

"No, you are right, my friend," Ardeth answered. "Nothing will change that… but if we fight it now, those that seek to prove that we are acting wrongly will win. You _know_ that I detest the way thing must be – for now, but the ultimate result does not need to be as they perceive it, or would wish it. I will take this situation and I _will_ turn it around, for the good of the Tribes and as best I am able for the individuals concerned." 

It was a noble speech, but Rashid could not help wonder just who Ardeth was trying to convince in saying it. 

"I don't see how you can," he said and closed his eyes, sighing. 

"Just be at my side and trust me," Ardeth asked sadly. "As you have always done. Patience has always been the strength of the Medjai." 

** 

"You will also find that the Medjai are _passionate_ men!" she said sarcastically, throwing another of her textbooks into the large suitcase on her bed. 

She had spent the last three weeks in Cairo trying to find a way to set up another meeting with the Medjai leader. She was sure that if she could just see him again, without the interference of Mister Bartlett, then he would agree at least to a trial period, during which she could prove to him that she could survive the rigours of life in the Sahara desert. 

But it was not to be. She sighed in frustration. Every single meeting, every single lead had ended in nothing. Dead ends, every single one of them, and now, not only was time running short, but so was her money and if there was one thing that her family had stressed to her before she left for Egypt it was that she should not let herself run short of money. 

_"Jenny," her brother had said, "Egypt is no place for a woman like you in the first place, so promise me if you run short, you'll get the hell out of there."_

But she just couldn't give up on her project… 

When it had first been broached to her she had thought it a stupid idea. The Medjai were just legend, myth… stories told to errant Egyptologists to try and scare them away from digging up all of Egypt's treasures. 

But then she'd started reading, and the clues were there. The more snippets she found the more interested she became in learning the truth, until thoughts of a tribe of proud and noble warriors protecting the wealth of Egypt from treasure hungry westerners since the time of the Pharaohs consumed her every waking thought, and several more of the ones she had when sleeping. She was determined to know more. They fascinated her, and since she had met their chieftain, more so. 

He was a proud man, but a quiet man brought up within and true to a culture so very different to any she had known. He had the heart of a warrior, yes, that was easily seen in the way he at once had seen through Bartlett, but beneath the mask he showed to the world she suspected something far more complex… far more interesting and unique. 

And there was something else too… something that had spoken to a part of her so deeply buried that she wasn't even sure she should be considering it. It was unscientific to talk about _feelings_ and _vibes_, but she had sensed something in him that seemed far older than the man, whose age she would have put in his mid thirties at most. 

It was something she though that a lesser man might have exaggerated, might have glorified himself in it, but which Mr Bay simply accepted, almost reluctantly – perhaps even sadly, she could not quite put her finger on what it was – and humbly went about his business, his duty, to his people as well as to his land… 

She looked up and blinked. Without even realising it, she had sat at her desk, taken out her writing pad and had headed a piece of paper with his name, _Ardith Beh _(sic), and jotted down the very thoughts she had been thinking. 

"Good God," she said aloud, and snapped the notepad closed. "I'm even trying to profile the bloody man now!" 

Perhaps she could afford one last try. She would finish packing, and then go to the museum to see the Curator and plead with him one last time to get in touch with Mr Bay on her behalf. If the answer was still no, then she had no choice but to get onto the train that left for Alexandria that evening. 

** 

They had bathed her in water scented with the petals of the desert rose, anointed her in fine oils of the jasmine flower and dressed her in beautiful gold silks that represented the wealth that her love would bring to the marriage. 

The dress felt heavy, weighted as it was with coins of pure gold. She couldn't move without making a musical sound for the strings of gold around her waist and the bottom of the veil that kept all but her eyes hidden from view, but she saw from her mother's reaction to seeing her that she must have looked as beautiful as the silks felt to wear. 

She looked around the women's tent, at all the other women, dressed in their finest lightest dresses and veils. It was a riot of colour with yellows, reds, blues and greens among the colours they wore. Gone were the dark black and blue colours with which they usually shrouded themselves. It was a true celebration, only she remained apart from that celebration, feeling as heavy as the dress she wore. 

Ashna sighed and felt a hand fall onto her shoulder. 

"Brave heart, little one." She looked up into the smiling eyes of Ghayda. "I know it is not easy for any of you, but know this… whatever you decide, I will be with you." 

"I would have thought you would have been against this match. You must like Meiri," Ashna said quietly, not wanting their quiet conversation to be overheard. 

"Ashna, I am old enough now to realise that there is no sense in fighting something that will be no matter what I think." Ghayda said. "Of course I like Meiri, more than that I love her dearly because she saved the life of the man I love." 

"How can I live up to that?" Ashna asked, fighting tears. 

"You cannot." Ghayda gently cupped her face through the veil. "So do not even try. You do not need to. Be yourself. Ardeth is a good man. He will see you for yourself and not as you compare to his first wife." 

"Thank you, Ghayda." Ashna whispered. 

"For?" 

"Being honest enough to admit that I will live as a second wife." She sighed. "No other, save perhaps Karida, Ardeth and Rashid have done." 

"Believe me, my child," Ghayda smiled. "The life of a second wife is not so bad a life…" 

"You…?" Ashna frowned when the other woman nodded her head. "But I thought…" 

"I am Rashid's second wife." Ghayda said. "Though now his only one, since Rida died five years ago. I will tell you about it some time. There was a time when we were all three together and we were very close, Rida and I." 

"Then I'm sorry for you loss," Ashna answered. Then she sighed. "I would not mind so much." 

"Would not mind what?" 

"Being his second wife if Meiri were at home, where she should be." Ashna said. "But the strain of all this, when I shall be the one entered on record as his wife and poor Meiri…" 

She stopped when the other woman once again cupped her face in both her hands. 

"Ashna, only you can make the choice of how you will answer the priest today, but know this," Ghayda said. "From what you have said in these few moments, I _know_ that you, and Ardeth, will be fine together should you choose that path, and if any can… you will help him to bring her home to you both. Hush now." 

She fell silent, thinking on the things that she had learned from Ghayda, a woman she knew would be a good friend to her. But the other questions still ached in her mind and in her heart. Could she find her way past the fear that had been building for the last ten years, and could she live a life without the kind of love she knew he felt for Meiri? Could she be a part of that and yet apart? 

** 

Ardeth felt only slightly comforted by the fact that Rashid and Tarek stood behind him and with him as his witnesses as they waited for the Tribe's Priest and the other representatives to enter the al-Kharga Oasis communal meeting tent. He drew himself up to his full height and sighed deeply only to have Tarek place a hand onto his shoulder. 

None of them turned around when the change in the levels of light signalled that someone had entered the tent. 

"Ardeth," the old voice greeted him lightly. 

"Did you bring the scroll?" Ardeth answered, refusing to greet the man. 

"And good morning to you also, First Medjai." Mohammed said sarcastically as he walked in front of Ardeth, carrying a scroll case that Ardeth recognised well. It was a scroll on which the Record of Ascent of the Twelve Tribes was entered. He unrolled the heavy scroll onto the top of the table. "I think you will find the entry in order. All that remains is for you and I to sign the record, and for one of your witnesses to sign with you, perhaps Rashid should…" 

"No," Rashid said firmly, and Ardeth looked over at him in shocked surprise to find his gaze locked with Mohammed's. 

"Rashid?" Ardeth asked quietly. 

"Since, as your second, I will be called upon to sign the marriage register, I do not feel it would be right for me to sign this document also," he said, never once taking his eyes of Mohammed. "That is all." 

"Tarek then," Ardeth sighed. On the surface, Rashid's words made perfect sense, but he had known the man long enough to know that there was more to it than that… and more than just his mistrust and now, near hatred of Mohammed as their openly hostile stares would suggest. 

"An honour, my brother." Tarek answered. 

Slowly Ardeth approached the table and after unrolling the scroll still further to make sure it was genuine he looked at the entry written on the scroll that would secure the future leadership of the Medjai and the future of his son. 

_Suhayl Bay, son of Ardeth Bay, First Medjai, out of Meirionnydd Evans, sworn concubine, is hereby named and recognised as heir to the title First Medjai, and leadership of the Twelve Tribes. This decree is sworn and recognised by…_

He sighed heavily as he read the entry, two words hurt more than he could even begin to express… _sworn concubine_… If he signed the document he relegated Meiri officially to exactly that which she had named herself, just a woman that had shared his bed often enough to get with child, and yet if he did not, he would not safeguard the future of their son. 

"Ardeth?" Mohammed broke in on his private misery and held out a case, opened, which contained a quill pen and a small bottle of ink. 

As he reached for the pen, Rashid reached out and caught his arm. 

"Be sure, Ardeth," he said. 

"I am sure, my Honoured Second," he answered, trying in some small way to signal to Rashid that he was thinking as First Medjai in that moment and not just as husband to Meirionnydd. Rashid let go of his arm and taking the pen, Ardeth signed the document and handed the pen to Mohammed. 

"Now get out!" After Mohammed had signed and their signatures had been witnessed by Tarek, breathing hard to control the sudden flare in his temper he ordered the man to leave. 

"As you wish, First Medjai," Mohammed said, gathering up the scroll and left the tent. 

When he was sure that they were once again alone he said, "Rashid, when we have time, you _will_ tell me why you would not sign that scroll." 

"May we enter, First Medjai?" The arrival of the Priest and witnesses prevented Rashid from answering him. 

"Enter," he said and turned to face the oncoming party. Three elders from the First tribe, Ashna's uncle, father and mother and of course his witnesses that were standing behind him. 

The priest stepped forward, "Ardeth Bay, First Medjai, son of Kareem Bay, First Medjai before you, is it your wish to take to wife, Ashna al-Tahrani, daughter of Ishaq, Second of Twelfth Tribe, sworn to you in her eighth year, come of age four years ago?" 

He cringed. He had always hated the last assertion. A woman was "come of age," when she was ready to marry and not before… certainly not when on older woman of her family announced she had first bled. 

"It is," he answered quietly, pushing away all thought other than getting past this moment. If they doubted his sincerity they did not show it. 

The priest nodded again and said, "Ardeth Bay, First Medjai, will you take to wife the woman Ashna al-Tahrani, daughter of Ishaq?" 

"I will," he said, his heart sinking into his stomach, the sound of it amplified in that empty space, for he had been unable to eat that morning, and pounding loudly in his ears. 

"Ardeth Bay, is it your command that I go from this place to examine the heart of Ashna al-Tahrani, as I have done yours, that you may take her as your wife?" the priest asked a third time. 

"Yes." he answered simply, though inside he felt his world coming apart. 

** 

"I think I shall be sick," Ashna whispered, hardly able to force the words past her throat. She stood with Ghayda and Karida as they waited for the priest to come to the women's tent. "Please do not leave me." 

"We will be here," Karida assured her, stroking her back gently. 

She hardly knew how her legs would hold her up. They had made their peace but how long would it last if Ashna refused her brother's pledge of marriage? Such a little word, all she must say to reclaim her life, to give him back to Meiri… she practiced in her mind… chanting the word over and over, almost a mantra. _No… no… no… no…_

But then what of the Tribes and Ardeth's credibility within them? What of her promise to Meiri to see Ardeth and Suhayl were safe? And what of her when word spread that she had refused to unite in marriage with the First Medjai of the Twelve Tribes? 

She staggered as she realised how trapped she truly was. Karida and Ghayda both caught her arms and in that moment the call came from outside for permission to enter. First all but she, Ghayda and Karida walked out of the tent to go and take their places in the celebratory area at the middle of the settlement, leaving the three remaining women alone to face the wedding officials. 

She trembled as the eight men and her mother entered. 

"Ashna al-Tahrani," she jumped when the priest addressed her. "Daughter of Ishaq, Second of Twelfth Tribe, is it your wish to be taken to wife by Ardeth Bay, First Medjai of the Twelve Tribes, son of Kareem Bay, First Medjai before him, sworn as a Medjai Warrior in his thirteenth year and to you in his twenty-sixth year?" 

She had to take several breaths to stop the room from spinning in her nervous state. _One little word_. She was sure that Ardeth would understand, would probably even ensure her safety – vouch for her, provide her with shelter when her parents disowned her. She managed to catch the sob before it escaped. 

"Forgive me I…" she whispered. "N… I am nervous." 

"Just answer the question child," the priest said firmly. 

"It is," she answered, her voice trembled and she felt as though she were the weakest, most worthless creature that ever crawled on Allah's sweet earth. 

"Ashna al-Tahrani, Daughter of Ishaq, will you give yourself into the care and protection of Ardeth Bay, First Medjai and submit yourself to him as his wife and mother of his children?" 

_No… no… no… no…_

"I will," she answered, caught between fear of what might happen if she refused and fear of actually doing all that she had just agreed. 

"Ashna al-Tahrani, is it your request that I go from here to call your betrothed to the meeting place and join you both, each to the other, as husband and wife?" 

"Yes," she answered, already to far along to dare changing her answers. 

** 

Jenny's hands were sweating as she walked into the museum that afternoon. 

She walked straight past all the ancient artefacts, and the many family groups all peering at the partly decayed mummies and shining golden masks and chipped pottery vases and trinkets, seeking as she was, a greater treasure. 

Hearing voices inside the office she paused by the door. As a little girl she had been taught, quite categorically _not_ to listen at keyholes, but something about the tone of the voices within captured her interest and she couldn't help herself. It might be important. 

"And you're sure it's genuine?" the accented voice of the curator drifted through the door into her ears. 

"When you questioned that I telephoned the wire office," the female voice answered, "It was dictated this morning from a London telegraph office, by Richard O'Connell. He paid in cash apparently." 

"The Medjai are not going to like this," the curator said, sighing and lowering his voice to one of concerned thoughtfulness. 

Richard O'Connell… Jenny rolled the name around her mind a few times, trying to see if she had heard the name before. 

"Should I make reservations?" the secretary asked. 

"Perhaps," the curator answered, "But if his wife is missing, O'Connell is not going to be happy staying in Cairo for to long. Not even if it is to wait for the Medjai to arrive." 

A missing wife and they send for the Medjai? Jenny couldn't quite put the pieces together – could not make them fit. It was obvious to her that she didn't have the whole story, but still… these people must be very important somehow. 

"Go ahead and make the reservations anyway. I will send Bahir to speak with the Medjai leader." 

Hearing footsteps coming toward the door, she backed away until she was standing, apparently waiting patiently, beside the secretary's desk. 

"Doctor Hamlyn!" the curator looked less than delighted to see her. "What is it this time?" 

"I wanted to speak with you," she said. "It is important, but it will only take a moment." 

"If you're here to ask me again about arranging another interview between you and Mr Bay, I'm afraid that will not be possible." He held up his hand in a gesture to push away anything she might have said. 

"Oh," she said, trying to sound disappointed, but her mind was whirling down a sudden avenue of approach that fate had seen fit to deliver to her. "I see." 

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but the Medjai leader has made his feelings and instructions very plain." The curator softened a little. "Perhaps if matters were different, perhaps if there were not wars being fought or artefacts being stolen every day or…" 

_People going missing_ she thought, finishing the sentence where he did not. 

"I understand," she said quietly. "But I wonder if I might take your card, just so that I have the number, in case matters do change?" 

"Of course," he nodded to his secretary who produced a very official looking business card and handed it to her. She looked up from it to find him holding out his hand. "Goodbye, Doctor Hamlyn." 

"Perhaps another time," she shook his hand and turned to leave the museum quickly. 

Her heart was racing and she couldn't believe what she was about to do. She'd never really been an ambitious woman, but she was adventurous… and always had been, and what she had heard… Missing women, westerners mixing with the Medjai, unhappy Medjai at that… It sounded intriguing. It sounded exciting. It sounded as though it was the kind of thing she was interested in being a part of even if she didn't have the whole story… yet. 

"May I help you?" the voice behind the counter at the wire office interrupted her thoughts, which were racing as fast as her heart. 

"Yes, I've just come from Mr Khatar at the Museum," she flashed the business card in the man's direction. "He sent me to ask for another copy of the wire sent to him this morning from London by a Mr O'Connell." 

The man raised his eyebrows, and she gave him a sheepish smile. 

"Man would lose his head if it were not attached," he said. "Just give me a minute there to find the record." 

She stood fanning herself with the business card as she watched him walk away and search through some files before sitting down at a heavy typewriter to type from the transcript. Moments later was handed a piece of paper. 

"Thank you," she said. 

"Just make sure he doesn't lose this one this time, or I'm going have to start charging him." 

She smiled, "I'll make sure." 

With a polite nod, and pushing the telegram into her purse along with the business card, she hurried from the office and back to her hotel. She went straight up to her room where she slammed the door shut, locked it and leaned on it as though the hounds of Anubis were on her trail. 

She reached a trembling hand into her purse and pulled out the folded telegram. Tossing everything else to the side of the suitcase, which was still on the bed, she opened up the piece of paper and read. 

_Ardeth [stop] Urgent [stop] Evy missing and so is the handle [stop] Will be in Cairo in three days [stop] Need your help old friend [stop] O'Connell [end]_

A slow smile spread onto Jenny's face. If she could somehow get this Richard O'Connell to help her… to get her a meeting with the Medjai leader… she sighed. It was an incredibly mercenary way of going about things, and not like her at all, but she simply _had_ to find out more. 

** 

She wouldn't have thought that sitting all day beneath a silk bower like shelter with all of the women from her family and from his would have been so tiring, but even after sleeping soundly the night before, by mid-day of the second day of the celebrations that were marking their wedding, Ashna felt herself getting more and more tired. 

She looked across the central space to the Ardeth's party, similarly seated beneath a shelter. They were closer to each other than they had been the day before, but still they had not met since that first time, and since she had seen him briefly when she was taken to the meeting with Meiri. 

Having accepted his marriage proposal three times, they were already considered married under the civil law of the land, but not yet under Medjai law. That moment was yet to come. 

He looked up then. She could feel his eyes meet hers and she blushed. Even over the distance, and the torrent of confused and confusing feelings notwithstanding, he looked simply magnificent. The silver around the edges of his robe accented his dark hair, which shone in the sunlight. His goatee beard and moustache drew attention to his strong featured, handsome face. If matters were different, she could have been ecstatically happy. 

As she watched he leaned over and spoke to one of the men, picking up a small bowl from the silken cloth in front of him. He handed it to the man who rose smoothly and brought it across the space where the arena was being prepared for a demonstration battle between several of the young Medjai. The assembled village cheered as their leader made – albeit by proxy – contact with his new wife. Ashna's blush deepened, thought she knew it was a traditional exchange, it touched her somehow as she had not expected. 

_"I would never take to wife a woman for whom I could have no feelings. If we are to marry, then I will give you all of myself that I am able."_

"Your husband sends you sweet dates to satisfy your hunger." The words spoken by the Medjai warrior – she did not know his name – as he bowed before her snapped her out of the memory of her first meeting with Ardeth. He held out the bowl. 

She took it and set it down beside her for a moment before she picked up a fine porcelain cup and filled it with water from a clay jar. She held this out to the warrior. 

"Tell him he is most gracious and that as I know I shall hunger for nothing under his protection, god willing, neither will he thirst." She nodded to the warrior who took the cup from her hands and returned to Ardeth's side of the circle. 

She saw Ardeth smile faintly, a little sad, she thought, and taking the cup he raised it in her direction. She took one of the dates from the bowl and as he drank, so she forced herself to eat. The gathered Medjai cheered again. 

** 

Rick walked quietly along the deck, getting some air and still looking for his brother-in-law, who seemed to be becoming more and more withdrawn as they got closer and closer to the port at Alexandria. 

He saw him standing at the railings of the steamer, gazing out over the water. It would be getting dark soon… it always seemed to get darker over water more quickly than over land. 

"Jonathan?" he said softly as he came close enough to hear over the sound of the steamer's engines. 

"I was just thinking," Jonathan answered as he shook his head to try and get his windblown hair to settle once more. "When we come back this time, I might go away for a bit… you know…? Travel the world, see other places…" 

He shrugged and Rick put an understanding hand on his shoulder. 

"You can't run from this you know?" he said. "Maybe coming back here will lay those ghosts to rest." 

"Land of Dreams…" Jonathan said sarcastically, and Rick turned to follow the direction of his gaze and look out at the blur on the horizon that was the fast approaching land. "Land of bloody nightmares more like!" 

"You'll be all right," Rick said, before the two men fell silent, watching Alexandria come slowly into focus. They would spend the night there, before taking another boat along the Nile to Cairo, where hopefully Ardeth would somehow have gotten his message and would be waiting for them, and if not waiting he would be on his way to meet with them. He didn't want to have to wait to long. He'd wasted enough time already. 

He shuddered and opened his mouth to say something more when a faint thudding sound caught his attention. Without a thought he drew his gun from its holster and gestured to Jonathan to back away as the sound came again, this time from the lifeboats. 

Pointing his gun in that direction he carefully reached out for the tarpaulin that was covering the small wooden craft suspended at the side of the ship. Behind him, he heard the unmistakeable click of a hammer being drawn back and glanced over his shoulder to see Jonathan covering him with the tiny handgun he habitually carried. 

He nodded and smiled inwardly. Maybe Jonathan was going to be okay… and then, turning his attention to the lifeboat he inched closer, stretching out a hand to the side of the tarpaulin once more. He curled his fingers around the edge and counting silently to three threw it back. 

A cry from within startled him and a very familiar shape threw itself away from the barrel of his gun, falling to his back. 

"Whoa! Dad!" Alex gasped. 

"Alex?" Rick couldn't believe his eyes. "Alex!" 

"Yeah," 

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" he snapped, reaching out to grab his errant twelve year old son by the scruff of his school blazer and drag him aboard the steamer. 

"Same as you," Alex said, pulling himself out of his grasp and smoothing down the blazer, "What did you think? I was running away to join the Medjai?" 

"Alex, this isn't funny. It's not a game. You should be in school, finishing your studies." Rick tried to think of a million and one other reason to cite to his son why he shouldn't be there. "Not…" 

"Not what?" Alex cut him off, turning round to lean into the lifeboat and pull out his small duffel back. "Running around Egypt looking for the creeps that have got my mother and might even have _killed_ her by now!" 

Rick almost stumbled backwards at the vehemence and determination in the boy's voice. 

"She's my _mum_ for god's sake. I can't just sit around waiting for you to bring her home when I know I could help!" 

"Boy's got a point, Rick," Jonathan said quietly. "Hey partner." 

"Hey, Uncle Jon." Alex answered. 

Rick looked between the two other members of his family in astonishment mingled with pride. Alex was resourceful; he had to give him that. 

"All right," he said reluctantly, and throwing up his hands started to walk away, meaning to go and find the purser and pay for Alex's passage. He stopped and came stalking back, pointing a finger firmly into his sons chest. "But from now on, you do as I say. And if you ever pull a stunt like this again…" 

"Yes dad," Alex sighed as he started to walk away again. 

"You're not too big for me to tan your hide you know?" 

Behind him he heard Alex pick up his bag before hurrying to catch up, and Jonathan bringing up the rear… still – he noted – more than a little reluctantly. 

** 

The second day of the wedding had passed with surprisingly few casualties. Often people became so enthusiastic in their efforts to show off their prowess on horseback or with swords that accidental injuries were common. Ardeth was thankful it had not happened this time. 

Now it fell to him to begin the tradition of the Medjai wedding that had been handed down since the time for the Pharaohs, and only lately surpassed by the demands of society in the form of Islam. He could delay no longer without calling attention to it. 

As he rose to his feet the entire assembled company fell to absolute silence. Slowly, he started to cross the circle toward the women, where they still sheltered from the sun that was just now beginning to set, casting long shadows across the hard packed earth. 

No one knew – not even he – who would champion Ashna against him. Usually one of the Bride's family challenged the Groom for the right to take her from her family, but would it be her father… her brother… even her uncle – the leader of the Twelfth tribe? 

He reached half way before the voice rang out to call him to a halt. "Ardeth Bay! By what right do you come to take our sister and daughter from the bosom of her family?" 

"She was promised to me," he answered, the words traditional, only the language had changed. "As was I to her. I come to fulfil my promise, as is my right." 

"Then you must defend that right!" Ashna's brother stepped into the circular arena. Scimitar already drawn, looking as though he wanted to carve Ardeth into many tiny little pieces. 

Ardeth nodded his head respectfully and then unfastened his cloak and threw it back off his shoulders, where it fluttered to the ground, still falling as Ardeth took one of his own blades from its sheath. 

If the younger man was nervous at all, to be fighting the First Medjai in what, although traditional, must be a very real fight, lest the bride's family be offended by his lack of commitment to her, he did not show it. 

"Good then," he said. "Let us begin!" 

Ardeth allowed the other man to move first, standing patiently in defence, parrying the blows that came at him in rapid succession, until he got the measure of the man. Thankfully it was ordinarily unheard of to be on the receiving end of an attack by a fellow Medjai warrior. 

The man was good, his strikes strong and steady, though he did have a tendency to strike low, a reasonable assumption then to think that Ashna's brother was more used to fighting with two blades as was he. Testing his theory, he parried a low incoming strike and lashed out with an open hand toward the man's face. Reflexively the other man parried the empty handed strike, sweeping his own empty handed arm around in a backhand circle which kept Ardeth's hand away. 

As his hand levelled again the young upstart reached for the hilt of his second blade. 

** 

Ashna actually cringed as Ardeth and her brother drew their second blades and began the deadly whirling attacks around and against each other. She was terrified that one of them was going to hurt the other… maybe even worse. 

Sparks flew from their blades in the gathering dusk as the fight went first one way then the other, each of the warriors giving ground alternately as the other gained the upper hand temporarily. 

She gasped as one of Ardeth's blades slipped through her brother's defences and slapped against his arm. The assembled Medjai roared in approval that their First Medjai had been the first to land a blow. 

She knew her brother wouldn't like that… pride had always been his problem and she saw the look that flashed across his eyes as he launched his next attack. 

Both of his blades followed the same path, sweeping around the blade that had been angled so that the flat of the blade had struck his arm to protect him from injury, and up toward Ardeth's neck. She snatched up both hands to put them in front of her eyes. 

** 

He recognised at the last moment that the younger Medjai was not about to pull the strike and quickly did the only thing he could, reversed both blades and ducked under the man's incoming arms, rolling around the other man's body and with a forearm smash, sending the man and his deadly sharp blades stumbling away. 

How _dare_ he… one thing to truly fight for something you believed, another entirely for something that had been thrust upon you… and for what? To safeguard another man's pride? 

Straightening up, he rolled both blades around his hands several times as he waited for Ashna's brother to turn again and face him. Focus and calm descended on him, shutting out everything and everyone around him. 

"So be it," he said quietly when the other man steadied himself again. 

** 

Rashid could not believe he was the only one of the Chosen that had seen the change in Ardeth and started to rise, meaning to put a halt to it all before someone, more likely Ashna's brother got killed, or at the very least, seriously hurt. 

Tarek caught his arm and shook his head when Rashid looked at him. 

"Trust him," he said. 

With a sigh, Rashid settled back against the cushions and turned his attention back to the battle. 

Ardeth came in low, lower than the boy's angled blade showed he expected and he was forced to jump back to avoid the razor edges of scimitars that swept in figure eights in front of him. He parried one, only to need to duck under the other as Ardeth reversed the direction of his strike and brought the blade in high. 

In ducking under the strike, the younger Medjai came up behind Ardeth, and saw an opportunity, perhaps, to get one over the older First Medjai. He struck with the blade in his right hand, a sweeping strike that would have sliced Ardeth from the top of his right shoulder to the left side of his hip, but Ardeth must have been thinking three steps ahead of the less experienced warrior and angled the blade in his left hand behind him, across his shoulder, to make the parry, before rolling over his right shoulder and coming to his feet facing the astonished boy. 

_Merciful Allah_, Rashid had not before realised quite how good Ardeth was in battle, fighting beside him as he always had, and in the thick of battle it was not something that he'd had the chance to see. 

Ardeth came forward again, blades leading in a blurring routine that forced his opponent's blades outward and upward until he swept both blades around in a decreasing circle toward the hilt of the other Medjai's blades, and hooking them threw them both out to the sides of the young man, who lost his grip and was at once disarmed. 

In his haste to put some distance between himself and Ardeth the Medjai panicked and tripped, landing flat on his back. Rashid could only watch as Ardeth swept his blades in, crossing, toward the young man's neck. 

** 

Fading sunlight glinted off the hilt of a blade, momentarily stealing the sight of the other warrior, lying at the mercy of his blades. 

_"We both know the truth of this, Ardeth." Her words came flooding back to him and he could almost feel her gentle touch against his cheek. "That words spoken in the love – or in the pain of love lost, as Kem's were, carry great power. We know that better than any living soul."_

"Deeds too, my heart," he whispered, forcing his arms to stillness. He looked down to see the eyes of the younger warrior staring up at him almost fearfully, the edges of his blades just grazing the young man's flesh. 

"First Medjai?" the warrior asked quietly. 

He shook his head. "Yield," he commanded, loud enough for the assembled masses to hear. 

"I yield!" Ashna's brother answered. 

Ardeth removed the blades, and taking them both in one hand reached down to help the young warrior to his feet. The gathered Medjai roared their approval. 

"You fight well," he said still breathless as he pulled the boy into a brief embrace and clapped him heartily on the shoulder. 

Releasing him, Ardeth turned to face his wife and lowered his head respectfully, before returning to his place, sheathing his blades as he went and pausing only to pick up his cloak. 

"I thought you were going to take off his head," Rashid said in concern as he sat down again, fastening it around his shoulders. 

"I was." Ardeth answered seriously. 

** 

The evening became more relaxed then as the meal was served, at least for everyone else. Ashna sat, barely eating, alive with nerves… when the meal was done the dancing would begin… starting with the young girls and culminating in the dance that signalled her acceptance of Ardeth as her husband. 

It was a dance that all girls of the Medjai were taught from the moment they could walk, the steps traditional, the music passed down by the oral tradition and never performed twice in exactly the same way. The dance's more erotic meaning came to be learned much later, as the girls mother helped her prepare for her wedding, as Ashna's had done… only now, Ashna was sure that everything she had been taught had gone right out of her head. She was going to make a mess of it; she knew she was and end up as the laughing stock of the whole of the Twelve Tribes. 

Darkness fell and firebrands were lit to add mystique to central area where all the celebrations had been going on. 

The girls, no more than nine or ten years old, were so sweet in their wedding dance. Their little bodies swaying in time with the simple rhythm, whirling and turning, and sometimes falling, but getting up laughing and straight away joining back in with their little playmates. They came to bring her a bunch of fresh desert rose and jasmine flowers and the same to Ardeth too. 

She watched as he accepted them with a genuine warm smile to the little girl that brought them to him. He took her hand and gallantly kissed the back of it and she ran away giggling in excitement. He shook his head then and turned his attention to the older, unmarried girls that were talking their place in the torch lit arena. 

Ashna too, turned her attention that way. She had often wished to be able to take part in the teasing dance the girls were about to perform… where the men and women of the tribe had the rare chance to interact against the many Medjai social taboos without too much reprisal. But betrothed to Ardeth at so young an age, she had never had the opportunity. 

The young girls danced with almost wild, youthful abandon, drawing in their chosen partner until the central area was full with laughing teasing dancers, all lost in the moment, all smiles and free in the movements, clearly enjoying the dance. 

Ashna sighed, and then jumped as a hand lightly touched her shoulder. She looked up as her mother smiled down at her. 

"It is time, my daughter. Time for you to accept him – dance for him my child." 

"Mama," she panicked and the words came tumbling out. "I cannot. I do not know how, I… I will forget the steps I…" 

She stopped as her mother began chuckling lightly, and even Karida was smiling broadly. 

"I too feared that I would perform the dance wrongly," her mother said, and she looked at Karida who nodded. 

"You will remember," she said. "Just allow yourself to feel the music. Let it guide your steps. It was what I did when I was married to Tarek." 

"Come," her mother held out a hand, "Let me help you to dress." 

** 

The beat of the music started softly, the figure – he knew it to be Ashna – shrouded in dark silks in the centre of the ring of firelight merely swayed almost imperceptibly, but enough to move those silks in a fluttering pattern around her shape, vague in the midst of the concealing fabric, as her hands, raised above her hand made a weaving pattern around each other. 

An a second instrument joined the music her movements got larger, bolder, the whole of her arms weaving the pattern around her now, allowing teasing, fleet glimpses of the gold clad body underneath. 

The dance had always intoxicated him, every time he had watched, at every wedding since he was a young boy. There was something in the movements and in music that grabbed a primal part of him and pulled it right into the centre of his awareness… and now to have it performed for him… He swallowed hard. 

As the tempo increased slightly, and the harmony joined with the melody, she began to turn, her arms opened and closed again to allow him to view the way her hips swayed in time to the rhythm of the dance, the coins around her hips adding a counterpoint to the steady beat. 

He felt himself growing warmer in the cold night air and shifted slightly uncomfortably in his seat. He swallowed again to try and keep his composure, for he knew when the dance ended he had to walk to meet her before all of his people and for them to publicly and under Medjai law accept each other as husband and wife. 

Next her whole body piece by piece , seemed to become a part of the music under her shrouding silks, her hips, her belly, her arms, even her head swayed snake like, a serpentine seduction that was drawing him in, that – when he glanced around the circle in an attempt to escape the dance's spell –he saw was affecting others too. 

Then suddenly she threw back the veils and was still for the short period of silence that was broken only by the steady beat that continued to mark time and the slight jingle of the coins that were falling into stillness along with her. 

He felt he could not breathe, that somehow something was lost, missing. Out of the silence a lone female voice began an ancient Sufi melody over the top of the rhythm and Ashna began to move again, as before beginning with her hands making a rolling 'come hither' motion, then her arms snaking in and around each other, before once again she began to circle, her hips shaking in double-time with the beat. 

** 

She watched for the moment that he rose, and then let her arms fall down and back to find the edges of the shrouding veil. The complex nuance of the dance demanded that when he stood before her she should be covered once more… even though quite decent beneath the blue silk, her face covered and most of her flesh concealed by the many gold discs that hung from her costume. She circled him once and he came to stand before her and then once more stilled with her arms crossed in front of her and upraised, effectively draping her in the silken blue veil. She was breathing hard from the exertion of the dance, but also at his sudden nearness. 

"Thank you," he said softly, surprising her. It was the last thing she expected him to say. The husky tone in his voice made her blush behind her veils. 

She looked up shyly into his eyes. In the dim light the pupils were wide, and made their rich deep brown seem deeper still, as though a spark of something more intimate darkened them. She shivered. 

"So… Ashna…" his voice was still low, but pitched to carry through the silence village. "My blade as your protection?" 

He took a half step backwards, and swiftly drew one of scimitars and offered it, hilt first across the back of his forearm. Timidly she reached forward her small hand toward the gilded grip. 

"Be careful," he advised quietly so that no one else would hear, "It will be heavier than you think." 

She nodded, and tried to let her startled eyes smile in gratitude as she closed her fingers around the hilt and lifted the surprising, but well balanced weight of the blade into her hand. She noticed that he kept close in case she needed to let go of the scimitar. 

"My hands to share your burden?" she said. It was ironic since she was starting to find it slightly difficult to hold his scimitar both level and still. 

He inclined his head slightly and reached out to take back the scimitar. She watched as, apparently effortlessly, he sheathed it. Then she swallowed, her breath catching in her chest as he took hold of the hand that held his blade and raised it toward his lips. 

They barely grazed her knuckles, but her stomach turned over, her knees weakened and her ears started to burn as all the blood drained toward her feet then flushed again right through her. 

"Until tomorrow then," he said softly as he let go of her hand. 

"Yes," the word came out as barely a strangled whisper. 

"May you wake in the morning to goodness," he bowed slightly and then stepped back. 

"And you are one of its people," she gave him the traditional response and watched as he returned to his place. 

A touch on her arm reminded her that she had yet another trial to face before the night was through, as her father and mother, and one of the Elders from the first tribe stood waiting to return with her to the place where she would eventually sleep. 

"You did well, my daughter," her mother put an arm around her shoulder as they led her from the central, well lit space. "Tomorrow you will speak your vows with him, and it will all be done." 

_Not quite all_, she thought. Her mother must have seen her expression because she gave her another little squeeze. 

"You will be fine," she said. "He is a good man – this we have seen today. He will treat you with kindness." 

"But I have no idea what to do," she whispered. 

"Your husband will know," her mother replied, echoing the same words she had said when last Ashna asked for her advice. 

** 

In truth the pain was not so bad as they had numbed the skin of the front of her shoulder with the juice of some desert plant before they began, but the prick of the needle as it was knocked repeatedly into her skin gave her an excuse to let her tears fall. 

Her mother's soft fingers brushed through her hair, which they had unbound for her, but which would once more be braided for the morning, and she whispered soothingly. 

She felt wretched. She'd had so many chances to end it and had been too weak to do so. It wasn't that she didn't want to… just that she was terrified of the consequences and now, the fear of him… of being wife and mother was all she could see. It wasn't that he was hateful… if anything his manner, his looks… everything about him attracted her in a way that sent her spinning off into confusion. She sobbed aloud, only to be hushed once more by her mother. 

Ten years of teasing… ten years of hearing snippets of rumour and innuendo… and her mother's avoidance of her questions – questions that she needed answering had grabbed a hold of her and turned her into a simpering wreck. She hated it and yet… she could not change. The thought of being with him terrified her. 

"There now," her mother leaned down and kissed her brow. "All done. Wear it with pride, my sweet one, as the wife of a Medjai warrior." 

Ashna looked down at the sign on her shoulder. A circle into which the lightning strike of the Medjai's spirit struck, causing a star to burst forth within the circle. When her shoulder stopped seeping blood it would be the dark blue of the sacred marks worn by all the warriors. It was meant to be a blessing on the union and at one time may once have been; now it just felt like another link in the chain that bound her. 


	6. You Must Love Her

Angel of the heart 6 

Chapter 6

  
  
  


A breeze crept under the edge of the blanket and, chilled, Meiri pulled it more tightly over her shoulders but did not wake. She draped an arm over the sleeping Khalidah and eased the child closer, tucking her against her breast. The child murmured sleepily and wound her small arms around her neck. 

_She was a terrifying woman, pale and beautiful in dark blue silks. The stars from the heavens seemed to have fallen into the clothes she wore like the night itself. Her cruel eyes, outlined in the ancient way and filled with rage pinned her in place._

_"Mine…" words whispered around her almost as though they had form, like serpents, "He must be mine. Give him to me… give him to me now!"_

_She opened her eyes to find herself in a tent. A Medjai tent, a dark figure advancing on the Medjai warrior, tall and broad that stood with his back to the figure._

_"Give it to me!"_

_A woman… and the warrior turned… veiled… and dipped a confused obeisance. He spoke, but Meiri could not hear the words. The woman stepped closer, seductively, her hands reaching for the front of his robes, slipping inside._

_"Please," he said, "This is not ri…" A look of genuine horror entered his eyes and the woman pulled her hand away to reveal the knife, curved… dark with his blood, still dripping even as she drove it home again…_

_Blood… a drop of blood falling, falling to stain white linen and a cry of pain… the bloodied head of child between risen thighs… being born… a dark head of curls._

_"Oh God, no!" the voice was afraid, light, high and familiar. She moaned in denial, blood spreading over the light linen beneath her…_

_The scent of crushed desert rose petals reached out to caress her… to draw her toward the scene before her. They lay there… naked and she shyly parted her thighs for him. He moved over her and her painted hands came to rest hesitantly hovering over the seven rayed star between his shoulders. He moved against her and she cried out… a drop of blood rolling down the light linen… falling…_

_Falling to the dusty floor… a drop of blood and pain… such pain that she cried out and wrapped her arms around herself…_

Meiri rolled over in her sleep, tears spilling from her closed eyes as she let go of the child in her arms to curl herself into a foetal ball… 

"Ar-deth," she wept, holding her arms around her body as though she were cold or in great pain. 

_"My love… my heart… you know, you understand…" The woman astride his naked body breathed the words against his neck between hot kisses. One of his hands buried itself in her long brown hair, while the other wrapped around her waist._

_"You tease me," he growled and rolled over, so that he was over her, so that he could claim her as she knew he wanted. His dark curls fell to shield the face of the woman into whose body he gave himself with such passionate emotion._

_She heard the woman gasp, and the arms around him became tense for all of a heartbeat, before they relaxed, before they pulled him again toward her and she moaned as he claimed her a second time…_

_She stared into the anger in his eyes as he grasped her shoulders almost painfully, uncompromising in his strength and determination._

_"Give me back my son!"_

"I cannot," she whispered, afraid. 

_"You have one day," he shook her again, "before I return. I will raze this place to the ground and everything in it to find my son! Everything… do you understand?"_

"I cannot give you what I do not have…" she whispered, living the nightmare. "That which has never been mine." 

_Images overlaid, one on the next, like a slideshow, rapid and painful, flickering one after the other… painted hands on a seven rayed star… voices crying out, gasping… pain and pleasure… the cry of a child, a new born… a dark-curled head, still wet with the blood of his birth… "Give me back my son!" Blood of becoming… blood of death… "Oh God, No…" a moan of denial…of pleading… of loss… "Rick… RICK!" A gun… a knife… "Give it to me…" blood flowing over a knife, held in a small hand, and a figure, face down in a spreading stain of blood… a robed figure… dark curls spilling from beneath a wrapped head… blood of death… blood of… blood…_

"Ardeth…" she breathed, fighting to surface from the cloying grasp of the sweet, metallic stench of her dream… "Ardeth… ARDETH!" 

She stifled the cry as she sat up suddenly. Nausea flooded through her and shaking, she dashed to the bucket in the corner of the room. She pulled back her hair as she heaved… vomited until she was quite weak with it. She stumbled to the table… to grab a cloth and wipe at her mouth… to pour herself a drink to take away the bitter taste. 

"Just a dream… just… a dream…" she chanted to herself, her voice a mere whisper, trying to shake the lingering nausea. 

"Mama…" She looked round at the sound of her daughter's voice. She must have woken her. 

"It's all right, little one." Meiri crossed the room and knelt to encourage the child to lie down and sleep some more. "Mama dreamed… it's all right. Go back to sleep…" 

She wrapped her arms around her daughter and lay down beside her. She wouldn't sleep again, for fear of dreams… She sighed, and looked through the gloom toward a metal chest that dominated a small recess at the other end of the cave. In the stress of everything else… losing Ardeth… how could she guard the cradle alone? 

She smoothed her daughter's hair with a trembling hand and wept. 

** 

Ashna moaned slightly as she moved her arm to put on the blouse of red and gold that would be her wedding outfit. Her shoulder ached beneath the dressing over the sacred mark of a Medjai wife. 

"Let me," Karida smiled sympathetically and reached for the buttons to fasten them. "The ache will go off, I promise you. You'll barely notice it by lunch time. It's just because it's stiff from sleeping." 

"I know," Ashna whispered, feeling more like a little child then ever with the other woman dressing her. She had a sudden thought, "Karida…" 

She stopped. How could she ask her sister-in-law such a question? When she looked up, Karida had stopped and was looking at her. 

"Yes?" she prompted gently. 

Ashna swallowed, too committed to back out now… again. 

"What is it like?" she asked shyly. "I… with…" 

Karida briefly caressed her face. "Ashna, no one can answer that question for you." 

"But I don't even know what to expect…" she looked down, tears coming to her eyes. She needed for someone to tell her something. Why was everyone avoiding her questions? 

"And none can tell you, because it is different for each of us," Karida repeated. "But try not to fear, little sister. You will make yourself ill with it. I know my brother and he will treat you gently." 

Karida finished buttoning the blouse, and started to help her with the many veils that would cover the red blouse and skirt she wore. The colours were traditional… Red for the blood of life, vitality and will, and gold for the wealth that a loving marriage could bring to the lives it touched. Ardeth, she knew, would be wearing white and gold. White for the balance to the red in the essence of life, and for the bright purity of the sun and the gold also for the wealth his strength and protection would bring to the marriage. 

She looked down at herself when Karida had finished. She felt so outside of everything except her trepidation, that the whole thing could be happening to someone else. Except that it wasn't. She sighed as she watched the shadow fall across the doorway. 

"Ashna Bay!" She jumped and her stomach turned over to hear herself so called for the first time. Of course, until the marriage scroll was signed, she swallowed hard, and the marriage was consummated it was still a temporary honour that she bore his name, but none the less it was a shock to hear it. "Come, join your husband and swear your vows before Allah and the People of the Medjai." 

With a smile, Karida helped her with the veiling of her face, and then picked up her own and fastened it into place before the women came from the tent to join the escort that had arrive to take her to Ardeth. 

** 

He ran his fingers through his hair and let out his breath as a long sigh as he stood waiting for them to bring her out to him. 

He sighed again trying to settle himself against the myriad thoughts flying round his head. He had lost count of the number of people that had congratulated him as he, Rashid and Tarek had made their way to the central meeting space that morning. He could not believe how many of his people seemed so quickly to have forgotten the woman that had been at his side through two long and difficult years; had helped heal their wounded, soothe their troubles; care for their children and their old ones alike. A woman more beautiful that the sunrise; more comforting that the waters of the cool clear Oasis; more vital than the most spirited of colts. 

"Meirionnydd," he breathed and closed his eyes to shut his pain away from others that might see. "Forgive me." 

He felt a steadying touch on his shoulder, firm and supportive. 

"Rashid, I am sorry. You were right." He opened his eyes and looked at Rashid, almost pleading with his long time friend to castigate him, to give him something against which to set his resolve so that he could get through the day. 

"No, my friend," Rashid answered softly. "We are both of us right and wrong in equal measure." 

For the first time in his life, Ardeth doubted his course and he did not like the feelings it left in him… the unsteady feeling in his heart. 

"There is no balance here, in this." He shook his head and looked at the baked earth beneath his feet. 

"Perhaps there is," Rashid answered, drawing his gaze back up to find that the familiar stability he always found had returned somewhat to the eyes of his Brother-in-Arms. The other man sighed before he continued. "In Ashna's own concern for both yours and Meiri's happiness. Ghayda said that yesterday she expressed the wish to see your first wife returned to her rightful place at your side." 

"She said that?" Ardeth's voice caught on the question. 

Rashid's words eased some of his paralysing doubt, but kindled again the burning annoyance that such a gentle woman that Ashna was time and again proving herself to be was being subjected the most dreadful kind of unforgivable political machinations in the long history of the Medjai. 

Rashid shrugged. "I have never known Ghayda to lie to me," he said. 

"Your wife, my Lord," One of the silent Medjai honour guard interrupted their quiet conversation. 

Ardeth turned to watch as the veiled, red and gold clad woman walked slowly toward him between the four men sent to bring her to his side. The rest of the women followed behind, peeling away from the small party and coming to stand in the circle around the edge of the area with the rest of the people from the settlement. 

As she came to a halt in front of him, her head down, but her eyes looking up at him, still shy and fearful, the priest, Elders and other witnesses moved as though to come closer, Ardeth raised his hand and almost shook his head. They froze… and Ashna's eyes widened as though she thought he was about to do something dreadful. 

He smiled gently. "Good morning," he said. 

"Good morning," she answered, her voice quivering. 

"Did you rest well?" he asked 

"I erm… thank you, I think so," she said hesitantly, blinking at him and he saw surprise in her wide, startled eyes. "Did you?" 

He nodded once, and smiled a little more before asking quietly, "Do you think that we have kept them waiting for long enough that they are nervous yet?" 

"I think perhaps yes," she answered, and he saw her glance to the side and then she looked down. He imagined that she must be blushing, though her veil hid it from his sight. 

He slowly signalled to them that they should now approach, lowering his hand. As they got nearer the look on the faces of the some of the Elders was almost priceless. 

"Perhaps not quite," he said as Ashna looked up again. This time her eyes showed the hint of a shy smile. 

"Ardeth and Ashna Bay," the priest addressed them both, bringing Ardeth once again to the reality of the matter as he addressed the girl – his wife, he reminded himself – by his name. "I charge you now to swear before Allah and your assembled People, your oaths of marriage. Are you ready to make your vows?" 

"I am," Ardeth answered softly, having little choice but to do so. 

"I am, sir," Ashna also answered. He heard her swallow hard and tried to give her what support he could by appearing sure and calm. 

"Proceed," the priest instructed. 

"Ashna Bay." She jumped and looked up at him as he reached out to take her left hand as was required. Maintaining eye contact, and worried that she would bolt, as she noticeably pulled her hand against his, he raised the back of it to his lips. "In this place, before Allah and before my People, I promise to you my…" 

The sun blurred his vision as he pressed her left hand beneath his own against his heart… 

_"But still," he said, his lips almost, but not quite touching Meiri's as he spoke. "If this continues even one moment longer – here, now… I pledge you my heart for all eternity… my heart, my soul and my strength in protection."_

He swallowed hard, "… heart and my strength in protection; my honour as a shield against all who would wrong you. I will shelter you and comfort you through the days of our life together. I shall heed your counsel, and shall treat you always with respect and honesty, kindness and restraint and will safeguard your dignity as my own. I will be a father to your children and remain faithful to you as the laws of our people demand. On these things, I give you my word, as First Medjai, as warrior and as your husband under Allah." 

** 

Ashna blinked, trying to take her eyes from the vision of a man that stood before her, her husband, pledging his vows to her. Beneath her hand she felt his heart, sure and steady, and felt the rise and fall of his breath as he spoke. 

"You have heard the words of your husband," the priest said. 

"And I know them to be true," she answered with the words of the Medjai wedding rite, and took back her hand for a moment as he released it, then reached for his left hand, easing it nervously toward her heart. 

It was warm against her body, as she held it beneath her own hand. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to think of the next time she might feel his touch in such a place and breathed out slowly. 

"Ardeth Bay," she said softly. "In this place, before Allah and before our People, I promise to you my heart and my hand to share your burden; a place of solace to lay your head when you are weary. I will obey you and support you through the days of our life together. I shall heed your counsel and shall treat you always with respect and honesty, kindness and restraint and will safeguard your dignity and your honour as my own. I will be mother to your children and remain faithful to you as the laws of our people demand. On these things I give you my word, as a woman of the Medjai, and as your wife under Allah." 

"You have heard the words of your wife," the priest said to Ardeth as she fell to silence. 

"And I know them to be true," he answered. His eyes softened in a smile for her and she felt that she might cry. Instead she released his hand, blinking rapidly to push away the tears. 

A small silence descended and then the priest declared before all that the marriage was sealed and that silence was broken by the happy roar of the gathered Medjai warriors. Only Ashna – and Ardeth – remained outside of that unrestrained joy. 

"You must both come with your witnesses to sign the marriage scroll," the priest shattered whatever it was that held the din back from her and Ashna jumped again. She felt Ardeth take her hand gently to lead her to the tent where the register would be signed. 

** 

As the sun set, as it became just that little too dark to see, Rashid brought Ardeth's horse, brightly barded in silver edged black tassels to the centre of the area where the celebrations had been taking place. 

Ashna's heart lurched as Ardeth rose from where he was sitting beside her. He held out his hand, and trembling, she slipped her fingers into his palm. The women of the tribe began to make loud hooting sounds of what should have been harmless teasing fun about what was to come for her. But Ashna's eyes filled with tears as she blushed fiercely, thankful of the gathering gloom and the veil she wore. 

He led her in almost courtly fashion to the side of his horse, and briefly let go as he mounted. Her legs wobbled under her without the steadying touch of his hand, even though it was his nearness that caused it, and then he slipped his foot from the stirrup and held out his hand, to help her up in front of him. 

His arms encircled her waist to prevent her from falling, she knew, but it was the closest she had been to him – yet. She took a shuddering breath. Before the night was at an end, she would get closer still and her new husband would know her as no other. One of the tears that had gathered in her eyes found its way onto her face. 

** 

He thought she was going to slip, so tightened his arm around her waist. Marhana shifted almost nervously under them, and only Rashid's firm grip on the bridal kept the beast from rearing up. 

"Easy, my friend," he murmured to his mount, and took the reins from Rashid as he handed them up. 

He gently eased Marhana's head around and encouraged the horse to walk slowly toward his home. His warriors fell into step beside the horse, lighting the way with flaming brands from the fire. Behind them, cheering and celebrating still, the entire settlement followed to see them into their new life. The revelry and celebration would continue long into the night as was customary once the bride and groom had been seen home. 

It was not a long ride and soon enough Ardeth drew Marhana to a halt outside his home. His honour guard formed a human shield and he dismounted and lifted Ashna down. Her hands trembled on his shoulders and he fought to keep the sigh from escaping his body as he let her go to follow him to the door of his home… _their home now_, he corrected himself. 

He held back the door with the back of his hand for Ashna to precede him in and the sound of the celebrations began to quiet as they villagers returned to the central meeting space. As he turned to follow her, he caught Rashid's eyes as his friend threw himself up into Marhana's saddle. He held the warrior's gaze for a moment. There was sympathy and understanding there, but also a harder edge that worried him a little. 

Rashid nodded and tugged on the reins to turn the horse away from the settlement. Ardeth understood that his friend would take no further part in the celebrations, preferring to patrol the desert. The last sound he heard before he went inside, the sound of hoof beats on cooling sand. 

She was standing in the middle of the main room as he let the door fall closed behind him. She looked totally lost and turned to face him as he entered with a strange and rather stiff expression showing in her eyes. 

He tried to smile gently. "Welcome home," he said. 

"Thank you, I…" she stopped speaking as he walked toward her. 

Past her shoulder, where the fabric that separated the two rooms had been tied back to leave the bed chamber open and visible he could see the bed had be draped in fine pale linen with the petals of the Desert Rose strewn on top. He could not stop the sigh… another deliberate act of manipulation. 

"I'm sorry," she almost whispered as he stopped beside her. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Ashna," he told her gently. 

"I… I don't know what to do," she said, and looked away from him, toward the floor. 

A dichotomy of emotions battled in him then, anger and tenderness. Anger at whoever had dressed his home, ensuring that the very thing she so obviously feared must be, and tenderness toward her because of her fear… her fear of him. 

"Why not start by making yourself more comfortable?" he suggested lightly. 

He moved to the side of the room to pour some of the steaming mint tea that had been conveyed to their tent, as was the custom, into a single cup and watched her out of the corner of his eye as she reached up, her hands shaking, to unhook the veil she still wore. 

His sister and Meiri were not exaggerating. She was beautiful, almost painfully so. They were also right about her being young and even though he knew so already, seeing her youth so clearly in her face surprised him. He skin, still red from the blush, or perhaps again as he had now turned and was watching her, running his eyes over her face and trying to get a measure of her, was smooth and held that unmistakably girlish bloom. 

Eventually she looked down and twisted the fabric of her dress around her finger before looking up at him shyly through lowered lashes. 

"You forget," he said softly, starting toward her again. "This is the first time I have seen you unveiled." 

He handed the bowl like cup into her trembling hands and reached up to take the silken veil that covered her head from her hair. He couldn't help but notice her flinch. 

** 

She couldn't stop herself. As his hands came toward her she tensed every muscle and almost tipped the contents of the cup all over the front of his robes. That would have been a dreadful start, given that they were white and gold. 

She barely felt the touch of his fingers in her hair as he found the two pins holding the fine red and gold fabric in place. 

He put the veil aside and gently, gesturing toward the cushioned bed, which had been left as the only area for sitting in relative comfort in his home, said, "Shall we share this tea?" 

A new flush of tremors went through her as he took back the cup and led her toward the bedroom. 

She lowered herself to the cushioned bed, crushing flower petals and releasing the scent of desert roses to caress her tattered nerves and watched as Ardeth set down the cup, and removing his footwear, joined her atop the rose covered cushions facing her. 

He took a sip from the cup then quietly spoke the Medjai's traditional words of welcome to her new home and handed the cup to her. She took it and sipped the mint tea, wondering idly if perhaps the mint would help to settle the churning in her stomach. 

The hot, slightly bitter liquid helped wet her mouth that was suddenly dry. Shaking still, she handed back the cup. His fingers brushed against her as he took it from her and she felt as though his touch had scalded her. She bit her lip as she saw him frown slightly and forcibly she held herself still as he reached toward her again. 

Her eyes fluttered closed, guarding against him seeing the turmoil that was a part of her, as the light touch of his warm hand settled against the side of her face. Her insides spun as his thumb moved over her cheek. 

"Ashna, please," he said quietly. "You have no need of your fear." 

She opened her eyes again as he took his hand from her face and gently took her hand in his. His thumb brushed over the back of her knuckles and he fixed her with a serious but kind expression. 

"In spite of all this," he gestured around the room with his free hand, "I will not force anything on you. I will not take you anywhere you do not wish to be and if you wish to wait, then we will wait and they must be content in that." 

She knew that although he spoke true of his feelings on the matter, the settlement would never accept her if she made him wait and in truth her own fear was making her sick, as Karida had warned it would, if she delayed further… 

"Thank you," she whispered with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. 

She was truly moved by his tenderness. She watched the soft smile appear to replace the serious expression on his face and tried to remember to breathe as he lifted the hand he still held to his lips, to kiss the palm of her hand, before laying it onto his cheek beneath his own. 

** 

Young but certainly not stupid… he saw understanding in the way she shook her head slightly, but she was so afraid, how could he…? 

_"You must love her as your wife, Ardeth."_

He heard Meiri's words echo in his mind almost as clearly as if she were there with them. A slow, sad smiled found its way onto his face as her calm wisdom washed through him in the wake of her words. He lifted Ashna's hand, still held in his, and pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of it, before he cradled it against his cheek. If matters had been different, could he… would he…? 

Ashna passed her free hand over her forehead, as though it ached. He would not be surprised. It had been a long day so far and still not done. 

"Why not unbraid your hair," he said. "I will get us more tea." 

She nodded shyly and he rose from her side with the cup and padded bare foot to go and pour more tea, this time into two cups, pausing only to shrug out of the heavy and somewhat uncomfortable outer robe of his ceremonial dress. 

He heard her stop moving as he did so and without turning whilst folding the robe carefully, he said lightly, "I am afraid I will stain it with the tea." 

He turned, the softer, inner robe brushing lightly against his legs now that it was freed from beneath the weight of the other and stopped dead. Ashna's hair, now free, hung just below her shoulders, framing her face and softening her features… a flush of guilt ran though him in the wake of the emotion her freeing her hair kindled in him. He frowned. 

_"You must love her as your wife."_

"I…" Ashna stammered, looking away – he thought he saw shame. "I had a bad fever last year… it was matted after… I had to cut it, I…" 

"I was just thinking how beautiful you look with your hair loose like that," he said, cutting off her struggles and crossing the room once more he knelt on the edge of the cushions and offered her the tea. "Your tea, nawari." 

She blushed at his words and took the small cup from his hand. He moved further onto the cushioned surface of the bed now that he had a free hand to steady himself, watching as she sipped the tea, aware that she was, every now and then, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes as he too sipped his tea. 

If the tension went on, he was sure, she would make herself ill. He did not want to be responsible for that, but was unsure if he could… 

_"You must love her…"_

The next time she glanced at him he put down his cup and moved slightly closer to take hers from her hand. She looked away as he lifted it from her hand, to set it aside. He reached out gently, to take her chin in his fingers, to turn her gaze back up to meet his eyes. 

Moving slowly, trying not to startle her still further, he lowered his lips to hers, to begin a soft kiss. 

** 

Her fingers became knots against the linen covered cushions of the bed as his lips brushed against hers. The tension of expectation exploded through her from the light touch, sending fire racing from the contact to set every nerve on edge. The press of his lips became firmer as the small gasp she involuntarily gave parted her lips and allowed him to capture them with his and his fingers slipped gently along the side of her face. 

The fire ignited whorls of sensation that went spinning through her to leave her limbs tingling and a needful ache beginning in the pit of her stomach that wove tendrils to a much most intimate space. 

In the midst of the pleasant sensations she was feeling she had no idea where the sudden panic came from, but come it did, rushing in on her from all sides, smothering those enlivened nerves, clamping around the tingling in her belly and stealing the breath from her lungs. One of her hands flew to his chest, to push slightly against the firm flesh there. 

"Gently, yamha sughayyara," he whispered as his lips came from hers. 

"I'm sorry," she felt like crying, but could not, even though her eyes burned with the waiting tears. 

"It is all right," he murmured, running his fingers through her hair as he eased her head onto his shoulder. At the touch, slowly, her breathing began to return to something near normal, and she sheepishly sat up a little. 

"They kept me so sheltered," she said, embarrassed still. 

"I know," he smiled kindly, and arranged some of the many pillows against the wooden board at the head of the cushioned bed. She looked on, somewhat fearfully as he leaned against them, half way between sitting and reclining. 

"Come," he said, "We may as well be comfortable." 

He turned her so that her back was leaning against his chest and left shoulder, supportive and not so personal that she began to feel uncomfortable again. His left knee was raised and he rested his hand on it. 

After a long silence she said, "Ardeth I… I don't mean to…" 

"Ashna, I understand," he told her. He squeezed her arm gently, without letting go afterward. She reached across to cover his hand with hers, beginning to play lightly with the shape tattooed on the back of it. 

"Did it hurt?" she asked suddenly. 

"Mmm?" he murmured, sounding from far away as though she were pulling him from some kind thought or memory. 

** 

Sensitive to the touch of her fingers on the back of his hand, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Sensations travelled in the wake of the touch and a memory stirred… 

_"What makes a Medjai?" she asked him. Her hands continued their journey from where she traced the shape of his sacred marks. Even though she did not touch, he felt the air moving against him. It was as though she did and he longed for her to just throw all restraint to the sands of the desert sunset and truly touch him. "A state of mind… an oath… a belief…?"_

_"My heart," he answered, barely managing to voice the words. He was so close to her._

"Did it hurt?" Ashna's soft but sudden enquiry brought him back from the memory. 

"Mmm?" he asked, confused. 

"When they gave you the marks," she said. "Did it hurt?" 

He chuckled and she half turned so that now she sat side on to him, leaning against his raised left arm. She had a confused frown on her face. 

"Yes, actually," he confessed, amusement in his voice. "It hurt like hell." 

"Ardeth…!" she breathed, the surprise clear in her voice. 

"Well it did," he said. "And I was very sick afterward. I caught a fever and they found me wandering in the desert three days afterward. I was sure my father thought they had lost me, he set Rashid on me after that." 

She let out a light laugh then, it was a beautiful sound, but more than that, it started to ease the stiffness he still felt in her, even as she leaned against him. 

"I doubt that," she said. "You two are the best of friends." 

"Yes we are," he agreed, smiling. "And what about you, anisahi?" 

"Me?" she blushed again, perhaps mistaking his question as one that asked if she were his friend. 

He nodded toward her left shoulder. "They did not hurt you too much I hope." 

"No," she said softly. "They used some kind of plant oil to numb my shoulder first." 

"Then you are fortunate. They show no such kindness to the warriors," he reached out a hand to gently brush his fingertips over the front of her shoulder. She winced and he gave her a questioning look. 

"It is a little sore now though," she said quietly. "An ache…" 

Tenderly he curled his fingers around her upper arm. He sighed softly as her fingers slipped timidly up from his wrist along the inside of his arm. He wrapped her up in his arms, drawing her against his chest and leaned down to plant a light kiss on the side of her head. 

** 

"Ardeth?" she breathed a tremulous sigh against his neck as she looked up at him. 

"I was just thinking of all the things you have lived through because of me," he murmured. "You are very courageous." 

"No, I…" she whispered. Hardly daring to breath and as through to prove her point she started trembling when he looked down at her. 

He nudged her gently with his cheek, before his lips caught hers again, pressed in a light caress against them, warm and soft. Barely breathing she became light headed, but it just added to the feelings spiralling round in her again, that woke the sleeping warm ache in her belly and made her legs feel like water. 

Her hand pressed against his chest again, this time holding tightly to the soft inner robe he wore. She whimpered softly as she felt the hot tip of his tongue brush against her lower lip, before the kiss coaxed them to part, and his tongue dipped into her mouth. 

The taste was bittersweet, like the tea they had been drinking, but she felt drunk on the feelings kindled by the caress of his tongue darting over her own. His fingers cradled the side of her head as the kiss continued, and she found herself sharing his breath, drowning in the feel of him near her, the taste and the scent of him and in the fight against her own uncertainty. 

As gently as it had begun the kiss ended, though the touch of his hand, gentle against the side of her face, his fingers in her hair did not withdraw. His thumb moved slowly, softly against her cheek. Breathlessly she leaned against his hand, her stomach still turning somersaults and her heart pounding. 

Untying the knot her fingers had become around his robe she raised her hand until she could timidly caress his face. He turned his head, to kiss her fingers and the palm of her hand, his beard scratching slightly against her soft skin. 

"Trust me, Ashna, hilwa'i," he said in a tone that made all her already awakened nerves sing in protest. 

_"What do I do?" she asked quietly as her mother helped her to pull on the light sirwal that she would wear under her dress._

_Her mother finished tying the dark green garment around her waist and then tenderly cupped her face in her hand. "Your husband will know, my little one. Do not worry."_

"Always, my husband," she whispered, trying not to sound too fearful. 

She closed her eyes as he skimmed the back of his hand down the side of her face and onto her neck, her own hand fell onto his shoulder. She felt his breath against her cheek a mere heartbeat before his lips took hers into a deep, consuming kiss. His hands moved slowly along the undersides of her arms, easing them around his shoulders before he lifted her closer, and then lay her back against the cushions with the pressure of his body, holding her close and kissing her deeply as they settled together. 

She grasped tightly against his shoulders, trying to breathe, to catch the breath that seemed to have flown out of her. She felt as though she was burning with the tingling heat that was spreading through her body. 

** 

She pushed at his shoulder… 

_She pushed at him. "You must love her as your wife, Ardeth; the wife I cannot be."_

_"And I will," he said in a voice broken with fresh tears. "But I cannot and will not cast you from my heart…"_

Breathless, he released her from the kiss. She hid her head against his shoulder, as breathless as he was and trembling beneath him. How could he go on with this? He called her name softly. She looked up then, straight into his eyes… Her fear was there, still deep within, but something else, a warmth and darkness in her light brown eyes that spoke of her arousal… 

But Meiri… each time he moved she was in his every thought, and that was not fair to Ashna. He closed his eyes, fighting himself. 

_She pressed her hand over his heart. "You know that I am always with you… you will always know my love… even when it cannot be…"_

_"Your love gave me life, Meirionnydd," he whispered. "And I promise you…_

A light, trembling touch over his heart startled him back to awareness of where he was. 

"One day, we will bring her home," Ashna whispered and in that moment he dared to believe that he could reconcile his love for Meiri and the tenderness he was to give to Ashna. 

He smiled softly, and leaned down to press his lips to hers, to begin a soft trail of kisses over her neck. She made a quiet sound, that could have been a moan, and wound her fingers into his hair. 

** 

The cool rough touch of his beard and the hot press of his kisses against her neck left her reeling under the sensations she felt. Her heart was a moth trapped within her breast. Her words had released him – she had not known where they came from. It felt to her as though someone, a soft sweet voice had put them in her head and she just had to tell him – and now that he had come to her she was more unsure than ever. 

His fingers caressed over her shoulder, barely grazed the soft curves of her breast as they travelled over her body, mapping her form, capturing the buzzing swirling ache that pulled against her centre and made her feel swollen. 

Time blurred and stretched around her, as his caresses continued before his touch returned to breasts. She gasped as he touched her, and he kissed her open mouth, filling her once more with the taste of him as his fingers fluttered over the buttons on her blouse and it came open. The knots inside her came tighter again as the touch of his hand, warm against the cool air in the dimly lit tent, settled onto her skin, moving in circles over her curves until his thumbs found her erect nipples and teased. 

She tore her mouth away from the deep kiss and gasped as he gently pinched the tender nubs. She arched her back, even without knowing why as his lips descended to meet with the fingers that were still dancing spirals over her breasts. 

His unhurried gentle passion, expressed in the way he touched her, kissed her, and murmured quietly to soothe the whimpers that were becoming less and less wound an unfamiliar need around her pure untouched spirit that made her heart race. 

"Please… wait, I can't…" She needed respite from the breathlessness he caused with the sweet touches. "Just hold me… please." 

He shrugged out of the robe he still wore, and gathered her against his soft undershirt. His caresses slowed, but did not stop, teasing against her spine. He cradled her arm across his chest, her head on his shoulder, and he was breathing almost as hard as she was. 

** 

He rode around the entire oasis several times before deciding he was calm enough to return home. He had no doubt that Ghayda would chastise him for missing the rest of the celebrations, but he also knew that she would understand. 

She was his wife… his friend and his lover… the one person in the world to whom he could completely unburden himself, completely open himself. He needed her now. He needed her gentle wisdom. 

He frowned. His warrior senses were screaming at him that something was not as it should be. Slipping silently from Marhana's back he walked carefully, slowly around to the shadows at the back of the large tent that made up Ardeth's home. 

Nausea gripped him hard as he peered into the darkness at the figure crouched close by the rear of the tent, near – he knew, remembering the layout of his dearest friend's home – the rear of the bedroom. 

** 

Both of them naked now she ran her fingers hesitantly, shy once more, over the wings that graced his chest. He moaned softly at her touch, the sound vibrating through the kiss he pressed against her neck, and moved his caresses lower, over her stomach. 

She tensed slightly, and the muscles of her stomach fluttered under his fingers. His teeth nipped the lobe of her ear, his beard brushing against her neck, still alive from his kisses. 

She gasped softly as the heel of his hand grazed against the softness at the top of her legs before he caressed along the length of her thigh and back toward her body. Shyly, almost hesitant, she moved her leg, at the behest of the pressure he put against her thigh. 

She closed her eyes, breathed his name as he touched her, almost, but not quite reaching the ache that his touches and his kisses – the very nearness of him – had sparked in her. His fingers glided against her moist softness, pulling all of the spiralling feelings into that place his touch now circled and teased and just when she thought she would die from it, the caress was gone. 

He called her name softly. She opened her eyes and blushed at the honest question she saw in his. Could she do this… was this what she wanted? Her breath snagged in her chest as the apprehension returned, but still, she shyly parted her thighs for him as he moved over her. Her arms trembled as they came around to hold him, her painted hands coming to rest between his shoulders, where she had seen the star that graced his back. 

She felt the hardened length of him pressing against her, uncomfortable against the tender space he began to possess. She snatched in a hurried breath as the discomfort became pain – a sharpness, intense and raw as he brought her from child to woman. She cried out from it, as he filled her completely, and wept his name. 

"Ah… Ar-deth… Ardeth…" 

"Nafisahi," he breathed gently, kissing each tear that fell and nudging her face up until his lips found hers, to kiss her deeply, and take the cries that fell from her lips as he moved. 

Although not quite momentary, new feelings soon wiped out the lingering ache of his life, risen within her. Strong sweeping spirals, like the whirling of sand-devils within her body, they stole her breath and guided her to move with him, against him, rising to meet each fall of his hips against hers. A hand crept into his hair, guiding his kisses to her neck and shoulder so that she could draw breath, so that the light headed buzzing that had started to settle over her did not take her from the sweetness that the night had become. 

Trembling… she couldn't understand why she was trembling. She could not reach any conscious thought, as everything she was seemed to have become tense, acute and needful of something… 

** 

Silent… making no more noise than the shifting sand, Rashid advanced on the crouching figure. Snake-swift, he reached out and grasped the lurking man by the back of his dark robes and heaved him away from the tent, spinning him around and kicking him far away. He did not want to disturb Ardeth. 

The figure lay on its belly in the dirt and Rashid pressed the point of the scimitar that was suddenly in his hand against the middle of the wiry man's back. 

"Explain quickly," he spat. "Before I decide to kill you anyway." 

"You would murder a member of your own tribe, Rashid Khalifa!" the man sneered. 

Rashid eased the scimitar away, but only enough so that he could turn the man onto his back. When he saw the Elder's face he almost recoiled in disgust. 

"I told you to explain yourself!" he ordered. 

"I had to be sure he would take her," Mohammed said without a hint of remorse. 

He acted without thinking and struck the man with the back of his hand. "You perverse, sick, bastard!" 

"So like your…" 

"Do not." Rashid began to press forward with the blade held at the man's throat. 

"Rashid, no!" Ghayda's voice stilled him at once. The light touch of her hand on his arm released his muscles and allowed the tribal Elder to come to his feet as she helped Rashid to his. 

"Go, my wife," he said, breathless with his own anger. 

"No," she fixed him with a firm expression. "He is not so old as to be no warrior, and we do not wish to bother the First Medjai with this betrayal of his privacy." 

He nodded, understanding her meaning. 

"Give me one compelling reason why I do not take your head from your shoulders where you stand?" he snapped at the gloating Elder. 

"You will not kill me, Honoured Second," Mohammed said, "Because you know that I alone safeguard the truth. If anything happened to me…" 

"You would not be so quick to expose me," Rashid shook his head. "I signed as witness to this marriage that you are so keen to see made irreversible. Open your mouth and you destroy everything you have worked for these – what – three years? Longer?" 

Mohammed shrugged. 

"Twenty nine years," he mused. "Such a long time to carry such a burden alone. You must be very tired…" 

"Before Allah and before our People, I promise to you my heart and my hand to share your burden; a place of solace to lay your head when you are weary..." Ghayda answered, quoting her marriage vows, before Rashid could open his mouth to answer. 

"So clever a wife… so loyal," Mohammed said, a hint of threat in his voice. 

"Come near my wife and I _will_ kill you," Rashid warned. He took Ghayda's arm and eased her behind him into the shadow of his protection and then pointed toward the man with his scimitar. "Now _get_ out of here!" 

He stood frozen in his anger, watching as the man turned slowly and walked away, until Ghayda gently took the blade from his fingers and sheathed it carefully. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to spill over his face and leaned against her shoulders. 

"What do I do?" he whispered. 

"Come home, my husband," she answered quietly. "Your wife and daughter need you." 

** 

The sounds she made, high and breathy moans, pulled at his core and sent the fire of his arousal rushing through his blood. The tight caress of her body squeezed that fire around him until he felt he was burning with the energy of the star for which his line was named. It was almost painful. 

But exquisitely so… 

His breathing was ragged, an expression of the coiled tightness in his whole body, seeking release. 

He raised his head to find her lips, to plunder the sweet taste of her mouth and felt her arms tighten around him as though she were trying to hold him near to her, trembling under him from the tension in her own body. 

A slow, deep rumbling moan, like thunder over the desert, gathered all of the sensations from his body and pushed them deep inside the ache in his loins. He tore away from the kiss, gasped and cried out wordlessly as the release swept though him, pushing him against her in a sudden deep thrush, losing himself inside her… 

** 

The sound of thunder woke her… Thunder… the desert… something very wrong… 

Slowly she uncurled from where she was sheltered against low rocks. Lost. If only… 

Anger rushed in to banish the sorrow… hate to fill the empty spaces… rage to move her to her knees. As the lightning split the heavens she cried out, a primal scream that left her shaking in something that was near ecstasy. 

** 

Always the same dream, the same nightmare when he was troubled… even knowing it was a dream, and her soft, shielding caress could not wake him. 

_He refused to watch – hoped that it was all some dreadful vindictive mistake. What had she done to deserve such hate that someone would speak the lies as now condemned her to so painful an end?_

_Even his words of his forgiveness and his pleas for mercy had not moved them._

_"Asma'i forgive me…" he whispered against the sleeve of his desert robe. No… he would not…If they insist her life must be given for her crime then so be it… but not in pain._

_Moving slowly, purposefully he loaded the rifle, cocked it and brought it to his shoulder, raising his eyes on the grizzly scene for the first time. Even from the distance he could see her crying out with each of the large rocks that struck her small and delicate body._

_He had forgiven her, why couldn't they…?_

_"Ma'as-salaama, habibti," he whispered and squeezed the trigger._

Thunder rolled above like the gunshot that had spared her pain but taken her life none the less and he woke with a cry equal to the one that he had made on the dune that day five years ago. 

** 

She pulled the woollen cloak more tightly around her shoulders as she watched the passage of the stars across the dark sky. Dark night… 

She refused to close her eyes… could see and feel and hear the touch of his hand on her young body… 

_They lay there… naked and she shyly parted her thigh for him. He moved over her and her painted hands came to rest hesitantly hovering over the seven rayed star between his shoulders. He moved against her and she cried out… a drop of blood rolling down the light linen…_

"No," she shook her head to clear the vision, just as lighting flashed – a brilliant wash that momentarily wiped out the shining stars… and threw her straight back into her inner world. 

_She gasped at his magnificence. He was shining with it. His dark hair fell in curls around his shoulders. The muscles on his oiled chest flexed as he held out his strong hands toward her and lower, beneath the drape of cloth that covered him, his firmly shaped thighs and calves bunched and relaxed as they carried him closer._

_"Sister, Wife," The tone of his voice stirred her body to life, as he wrapped her in his embrace and bent his head to drink deeply of her willing mouth. Hot… he was hot, too hot and she felt as though she was drowning in his kiss._

_"Are you tired, my love?" she asked, running her fingers down his back and feeling the way he pulled her against him more firmly._

_"Never too tired to pleasure you, my heart."_

_He took her hand then, leading her further into his chamber, into his bed, pushing her down to enter her swiftly, joining with her in unmatched fiery passion; possessing every inch of her body until she was dizzy with it – drunk on his touch and powerless against the pulse of his life inside her, that triggered a climax so powerful it split her in two._

_"Osiris," she gasped._

"Osiris!" Meiri suddenly rolled to her side, to rise from where she had fallen with the onset of the vision. She dragged herself to her knees, clutching at her stomach and at her heart as thunder split the air above her. 

"Ardeth," she whispered, losing the battle with her rising nausea, and barely able to hold herself up, she vomited into the sand. 

** 

"Ardeth!" 

The pulsing heat of his seed rushed into her, unlocking her pleasure and sending the wave of her own climax spilling over her, wiped out all other sensation. She couldn't help but cry out his name, breathless with it. 

"Here… kalila," he breathed as he sank down against her softness. "Right here…" 


	7. The End of a Life

Angel of the Heart 

Chapter 7

  
  
  


She waved the other woman away and stood by the sleeping child's bed. She was so sweet… so innocent and beautiful… just a child when sleeping. Miranda stroked her finger through the little girl's long brown hair, taking care not to wake the child, for when awake the innocence was gone and in its place the glowering rage of Nebkhat took the small body and made it Hers. 

Three years in the making, this child. Brought from the stormy events surrounding her birth to Luxor, where they had their temple; hearing only the ancient tongue spoken around her and to her; and daily rituals, from when she was but a tiny baby that would free the rage within her and ensure that she would be a fit vessel for the dark aspect of Nebkhat – and that the Her goodness would be rejected. 

They had been more successful than they could possibly have imagined. As soon as she could form words, the words were dark and cruel, and spilled from her mouth with ever increasing proficiency until she sounded adult in her bitterness and hate. 

She watched the actions of the Nebkhatian cult with knowing eyes, wound their High Priest around her fingers until she were the one ruling. He doted on her. Saw her as his little Goddess, his Nebkhat… and so it was now that they risked everything to uncover multiple sites, retrieve dangerous artefacts and to steal the very life out of the heart of the desert and extinguish the Star of the Morning. 

She hated the way the child talked in riddles – hated also the way she ordered that Ananiah use Miranda for the final stage in bringing Anpu to birth. Almost snatching her hand away from the child's brown waves she hugged her hands around her body, across her stomach. She was not some sacred whore, to be abused at the whim of another, when the memories of the child they had snatched from her, as sacrifice for their plan was so very fresh in her mind and in her heart. 

"What is it bothers you the most?" The girl's cruel voice demanded of her. She turned and grasped one of Miranda's hands, to pull it away from her body. "That she shamed you by sliding lifeless from between your legs and so _I _am not yours or that even the next life you bring forth will never be the child you crave?" 

She snatched her hand away, and hardened her heart against the emotions running in her blood at the child's words. 

"Until you know of love, keep your filthy mouth _shut_ and your mind out of my thoughts!" she spat. 

"Oh," the child said seductively. "I know of love…" 

Miranda tried to close her ears, but found she listened to the vile seduction oozing from the child's mouth none the less. 

"… of being dazzled by such beauty that you will stop at nothing to have what you want… to have his hand on your body, making you his… to have him inside you – even when the fear of pain in giving to him knots your heart – to melt at his touch and run as a river beneath the hot, hard length of his body…" 

"Stop it…" she whispered. 

"…the twisting of your heart when he gives what you _know_ is yours to another and she gives him what you cannot… a pain so fierce that you will deceive and lie to have it… regardless of the consequences…" 

"Enough, please don't…" 

"… that you will lie stinking in blood and filth because what you have is a part of him and you cannot bear to rid yourself of it, to be free of the risk, and instead you must go crawling to the gentle wife he loves… _beg_ her forgiveness and give to her the child that is yours by right and by pain…" 

"No!" Miranda exploded as the child leaped up and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her down to her knees. 

"I may not be yours Miranda, but understand that you are Mine. Your body is Mine, your heart is Mine… your soul… is Mine." The girl pulled back her head until she thought her neck would break. "All these things have come to pass… and will again to bring us all into the world once more… and _you…_ you will be a part of that. You will submit to My will and sweat beneath My Brother. His ecstasy is agony… to be so pressed by him is like dying… but _oh the rewards_…Taste… see…" 

Miranda tried to free herself from the un-natural grasp of the child as she brought her free hand to her forehead. She cried out as the sensations of the hazy vision blew her to the four winds… and did not feel as the child released her to slump as if lifeless to the ground. 

** 

_He shuddered as he stepped into the darkened room in the temple. He'd been there before. Every nightmare began the same way, in the temple… in the place where his greatest torment had become real…_

_"No, please… not again…"_

_"Joooooonnnaaaaaathaaaannnn!" A woman's voice this time, calling to him, her voice soft and seductive – almost kind._

_"Go to her Jonathan," the same sibilant hiss that lived in his head… that he had noticed during the daytime since they had arrived in Cairo. "She needs you. She needs your help…"_

_Blinking, he saw what he thought was a doorway at the other side of the room and walked toward it, hoping it would get him out of the temple and help him to wake. He remembered reading in a book on dreams, that you could find a door, that would bring you out of you nightmares…_

_She was preening as if looking into a mirror and she was beautiful…a soft Egyptian face, painted eyes and high cheeks. She wore little, the curve of her breasts peeking over the top of the blouse she wore, her belly, jewelled and uncovered, painted gold and the metallic blue of Lapis Lazuli. The way she looked made him long to reach out to her to touch her._

_She sighed almost irritated, and with a final ruffle of the feathered cloak she wore she turned from the mirror and started to walk toward the door he could see behind her. Out of reflex he turned his head, expecting to see a doorway behind him. There was nothing, except…_

_"Jonathan," a desperate call, familiar and yet somehow lost in an uncooperative memory. He started to move forward, without thinking. "Jonathan, no!"_

_Passing through the mirror was like walking through a cool waterfall, it ran like quicksilver over his skin and he raised his hands to find them painted, silver, like moonlight. He could still see the woman, in fact felt as though she were waiting for him…_

_It was only a short walk down the hallway to the rooms of the temple. She paused in the doorway, singing a low charm under her breath before she stepped through into the dimly lit and sweetly fragranced chamber. He entered with her… and gasped at the figure that was waiting there._

_"Ardeth!"_

_He stood as they entered, shining with magnificence. His dark hair fell in curls around his shoulders. The muscles on his oiled chest flexed as he held out his strong hands toward her and lower, beneath the drape of cloth that covered him, his firmly shaped thighs and calves bunched and relaxed as they carried him closer. It was him, and yet… somehow… not._

_"Ardeth, no!" Jonathan pushed the woman aside as he tried to come to her, catching him by the shoulder._

_His hand came forward against a soft springing resistance of the flesh into which he plunged the knife that he didn't even know he carried in his hand. Hot blood flowed over his fingers._

_"Jonathan…?" Ardeth gasped, falling to his knees even as Jonathan sought to keep him upright._

_"No, Ardeth no, you didn't die… you're fine you…"_

_"Sister," A voice behind him commanded his attention and he turned to see an unfamiliar figure now approaching the woman. Where was Ardeth – for when he turned around to help his friend, the Medjai was gone? "Wife," The man added in an altogether different tone as he wrapped her in his embrace and bent his head to drink deeply of her willing mouth._

_He turned away, not to watch the frantic coupling he could hear behind him, only to find himself faced with it in front._

_"My love… my heart… you know, you understand…" The woman astride his naked body breathed the words against his neck between hot kisses. One of his hands buried itself in her long brown hair, while the other wrapped around her waist._

_He pressed his fists against his eyes, refusing to watch – and then against his ears refusing to hear until a cry that penetrated made him snatch his hands away._

_"Do something, Jonathan…" the scene swirled and he was back in Hamunaptra, but it was all wrong… it felt wrong, it looked wrong…_

_A tall black figure holding Evy's hair…_

_"Evy, no!"_

_A dark gloomy day… rain splattering down on a small group of mourners in a country churchyard, laying a tiny coffin into the cold clay ground…_

_The reassurances of his friend swept away by the sudden cold that pushed in through the soles of his feet, rising like sludge into his psyche_

_A woman, helpless, on her knees between two brooding Medjai, her head pressed forward, and her long hair falling to hide the tears he could hear she wept…_

_Friendly arms that grasped his shoulders, offering him safety, solace, escape…_

_"Ardeth, no please… for the love of God!" a familiar voice, also broken with the agony of tears… as a heavy blade rose slowly above the bowed head…_

_"Jonathan…?" This time his sister, held in his arms, her blood flowing over his hands that held a knife._

_"You killed them all, Jonathan. You are mine, you killed them all and you WILL… we will be free and your friends… and then you…"_

"NO!" he sat up in his bed with a huge cry of pain and grief – his eyes staring in shock at the figures, still all around him, still pale with the grey hue of death, all pointing in his direction. 

Evy, Ardeth, Rick and Alex… even Alex all pointing their damning fingers at him… all his fault. 

"You can't use me… you won't… I won't let you," he whispered… and pulling on only his pants he went to his jacket and took out his gun. He opened it, checked the bullets and then put the gun to his head and closed his eyes, starting to feel the slight pull of resistance against his finger on the trigger. 

Hearing voices outside his hotel room he opened his eyes and took the gun away. "Not here," he breathed, and quickly put on his shirt and jacket and left the room. 

** 

Cold early morning air blew over him, chilling him, lending him realisation that he was still alive. He tugged at the robes that were caked around him – caked with his own blood. The pain of his wounds penetrated, drawing a cry from him as he forced himself to sit up and look around. 

The bodies of his fellow warriors littered the ground around the sands they had been left to guard and in the morning air the sand glowed vaguely red and black in patches where the horned serpent warriors had fallen… but not quickly enough. 

_Out of nowhere, the night air was suddenly full of hissing and spitting. A man beside him the first to fall as the huge blade cleaved his head in two._

He had to get home… to warn them… to warn the First Medjai. To tell him that something was not only coming… but that _something_ was already here. Something bad. 

** 

It wasn't like her to be unable to sleep, but Jenny thought that a walk in the gardens might help to cool her, and that in turn would help her find her rest. She had no idea how much longer she would have to wait for the O'Connells, but she hoped they would arrive soon or she was going to have to wire home again for some more money to be sent. 

She frowned as a low sound reached her ears. It sounded like someone moaning… in pain or grief. She couldn't tell which. 

"Hello?" she called softly, walking cautiously around a palm tree. 

It was a man, standing in a tan suit; she could see that in the moonlight. He had his back to her and was swaying slightly. His hands were raised in front of him, at head level she would guess, and he was the one responsible for the sound that – now that she was closer – made her blood chill and slow in her veins. 

"Are you all right?" she asked and reached a slow and hesitant hand out toward him. 

As her fingers settled against his arm he jumped and spun around, pointing what she assumed to be a loaded gun, since the hammer was cocked, first in her direction and then back at his head, before once against pointing it toward her. 

"Don't try and stop me!" he wailed. "This is the only way to keep them safe. I have to do it; do you see?" 

She raised her hands, afraid, but at the same time, this was exactly what she was used to. She had spent a good part of her training in an asylum in New Orleans, and then in London. She'd seen men and women as desperate as this before. 

The gun was still pointing toward her and he was shaking. Shaking so much that even if he fired the gun he would probably have missed her. 

"I'm not here to stop you," she said softly. "I'm just taking a walk, because it's too hot inside." 

"Yes," he agreed, drawing out the word almost sarcastically. "Too hot… that's Egypt for you… always too bloody hot. Like blood… Oh God the blood…" 

He looked at his hands that were holding the gun as though he were seeing the blood he was talking about. Was he properly awake? 

"I don't see any blood," she answered. "Perhaps you had a bad dream. Why don't you put the gun down and we can talk about it?" 

He yelped and instantly brought the gun to his head. 

"It wasn't a dream. I killed him, I _killed_ him!" he confessed desperately. 

"All right, I believe you," she moved to sit down on a low wall, keeping her hands in sight all the time. "But if you did, are you sure that killing yourself if the answer." 

"It's the only way… they'll all _die_ if I don't." he repeated, the desperation starting to make him breathless. 

"Who will?" she asked, trying to keep him talking. Hoping that something she said would snap him out of his panicked state for long enough for her to take the gun from him. 

"Rick… and Evy." 

Her breath caught and her heart sank at the same time. This man _couldn't_ be involved with the O'Connells. 

"And little Alex…" he growled in denial as he named Alex. 

_Fine, Alex it is._ She thought. 

"Don't you think that Alex would rather help you to find another way to keep them safe?" she asked softly. 

"Oh I know he'd try," he answered, no longer pressing the gun quite so hard against his head. "He's a good lad, is our Alex." 

"Well then don't you think you should let him…?" 

"No!" he pressed the gun back hard against his forehead. "I could never forgive myself if I let anything happen to him. Evy would never forgive me and Rick…" 

"But if you pull that trigger, how will you be there to protect Alex… and won't you hurt him… if you die I mean?" she started winding the ball of logic around him. "Haven't you always been there for him before…?" 

The gun came away from his head again, falling this time to his side and she could see he screwed up his face trying to make sense of everything she was telling him. 

"But if Seth comes into me again," he moaned, "I might hurt him… I might kill him…" 

"How do you know," she said, knowing that Seth was the Egyptian god of Chaos, "That it's not Seth that wants you to kill yourself now?" 

He looked at her, horrified, as though the thought had not registered in his mind. He sat down on the wall beside her as though her words had cut his legs out from under him and in a strangled voice said, "Help me." 

_"There comes a point where you have to stop being a psychologist and start being a person, a woman."_ Her mother had told her that, and she recognised this as one of those points. Smiling gently, she opened her arms, and was a little surprised when he moved into them without hesitation. 

Before she wrapped him up in her motherly embrace, she took the gun out of his shaking fingers. Then she held him while he sobbed, broken heartedly and, she noted, exhausted. 

"Jonathan!" A new voice – an American split the relative silence that had fallen several long moments later. "Jonathan?" 

The man in her arms didn't answer, in fact burrowed slightly deeper. Letting go of him momentarily she held out the gun to the newcomer. 

"I think perhaps you better take this, and lock it away," she said firmly. "And then you can help me get this man back up to his room. He needs to rest." 

"Yeah?" the man took the gun, and then crossed his arms challengingly, though the worried expression did not leave his face. "And who the hell are you?" 

"I'm a doctor, Mr O'Connell, a psychologist," she said, then added, "I presume you are Rick O'Connell? And this man needs my help." 

He looked at her in shock for a moment longer, and then moved to help her with the man he had called Jonathan, who was still, though more quietly now, weeping in her arms. 

** 

Her head lay pillowed on his chest as he woke to the feel of the light morning breeze creeping under the edges of the tent. It was always that breeze that woke him. He reached to pull the blankets a little higher over them both, knowing it was early and not wanting the cold to wake her before she was fully rested. 

He sighed softly and tenderly stroked his fingers through her hair, and over her naked shoulder. She had wept with the unwinding of ten years of tension after their sweet release and he had soothed her with soft and gentle words, meaning each and every one of them. 

At last she had calmed, murmuring sleepy apologies for her behaviour. He smiled and kissed the top of her head. He had told her then that there was no need, that he understood and that it was a perfectly natural thing. He only hoped she would remember that, and would not be too discomforted when she woke and they began their first day together as husband and wife. 

His sister and Ashna's mother would come to shroud them both so that they could be taken to the bath they would share, to bathe each other, as custom demanded, while the house was cleaned for them. 

Ashna would not be expected to assume the normal household duties of his wife until the henna on her hands had faded. Each morning they would walk together, or share some other task while one of his sisters would do what was needed to maintain order in the home. Ritual… custom… He sighed. He and Ashna would spend the next three weeks of their lives together – undisturbed by ordinary Medjai life and the hope – no doubt – would be that he would get her with child during that time. 

He sighed again. The elders were obsessed. 

"That is the second time you have sighed, Ardeth," she said sleepily. "Is something wrong?" 

"No," he answered softly, "Nothing." 

He tipped her face to meet his gentle kiss. She was still a little shy, he thought, but at least now did not panic when his tongue dipped softly within her mouth and the kiss deepened, instead, she moaned. 

** 

"Are you all right?" he asked her, ending the kiss softly and fixing her with a warm concerned expression. 

She moved slightly, and moaned against as the ache spread from her centre. She nodded though. "Just a little sore," she said shyly. 

"The warmth of the water will ease you," he whispered, and took her hand from his shoulder to kiss each fingertip. "And then I can show you around your new home." 

"I would like that," she smiled at him. 

"Good," he laid her back against the pillows and sat up, reaching for the shapeless black robes that would hide his form from the eyes of the village, and would later be burned, but stopped when Ashna's fingers traced lightly over the kneeling figures on his shoulders that supported the star in the centre of his back. 

"Mmm?" he asked softly. 

"You… are very beautiful," she answered, thinking as she spoke the words that it was a ridiculous thing for her to say. He turned back to face her and smiled, shaking his head, before he dipped a light kiss against her lips. 

She wondered if she would ever get used to the feelings and sensations that woke in her when he kissed her and then she blushed as she realised that she wished she did not ache quite so much so that they might share passion again. 

He chuckled, and moved away from the kiss, pulling the shapeless robe over his head and picking up the second of them which he handed to her, pouting as she watched him covering himself. 

With another light kiss he raised his eyebrows and said, "Later," before he let the robe fall around his legs as he rose. She noticed he was careful to be covered completely before he stood. 

She sighed as she understood why, but at the same time felt warmed by his protectiveness. He did not wish for her to be frightened or alarmed by whatever mess her first experience of love must have left behind. 

Taking a huge deep breath she peeled aside the blanket and even though expecting – no, knowing that she had bled – she bit her lip and found herself fighting with tears as she saw the evidence of it. Childhood at an end. 

Now she must move forward to her new life as a woman, and as his wife. She had made promises to Meiri to keep him, and Suhayl – though she had yet to meet the child – safe and she meant to fulfil those promises, but she had also made a silent promise to herself and to Ardeth too, that she would help to find a way to bring his first wife home to him. She meant to keep that promise also. 

Slowly she put on the robe, smoothing it down over her body, holding her bottom lip between her teeth. When she looked up, she found Ardeth watching her, his face a picture of concern. 

She smiled, embarrassed, and he smiled back and held out a hand to her, and when she took it, he drew her into a tight embrace. In spite of herself, she began to cry softly. 

** 

Evening was falling by the time he had the caves in sight. It was always a risk they took, coming here and only he and Ardeth knew where she was. He slapped his spirited new horse lightly aside the neck to get him to behave as he took him into the outer cave that served as stable and wind break for the small dwelling he had helped his friend to build inside for Meiri and Ardeth's daughter. 

As he took the time to remove the saddle from his horse he called to let her know that it was him, chuckling when he remembered the last time that he had forgotten to do so. She'd come at him with the gun that Ardeth had given her shaking in her hand. 

"I was wondering if you'd come," she said as he walked inside. He sighed, and frowned at her appearance. She was pale, looked a little dishevelled and her eyes were red from all the crying she had so obviously been doing. 

"When did you last sleep?" he asked, unwinding his hair from the turban which he then set to one side. 

"I erm…" She sighed, "Please Rashid, don't lecture me." 

His heart fell through the floor at the dejected tone in her voice and crossing the room he quickly took her hand in his and drew her forward into the circle of his arms. He cradled her head against his chest. 

"I'm sorry, I am still dusty," he said, "But you need this." 

"It was such a long night," she whispered. 

"I would have come," he cupped her face between his hands and planted a brotherly kiss on her forehead. 

"No," she protested his words, "No, it's right that you didn't. Ghayda deserved her husband with her last night." 

"Baba!" a little voice from the floor startled them both and Meiri moved quickly away from him. He worried about her, watching the careful way she was moving, slowly, as though an old injury was troubling her. 

"No, my little one," she said softly. "That's uncle Rashid," 

Rashid swallowed, and looked away from her playing with the sweet little child. Khalidah reminded him of his own daughter, when she was young and Meiri… she treated the child so gently, yet so intensely, as though she were making up for not being with her son. 

As if she read his mind she looked up and asked. "How is Suhayl?" 

"He is well," he answered. "He is growing into a young, strong child." _But he misses his mother's touch._ He did not voice the last thought. 

Instead he said, "Meiri, I need to change out of this robe, and then let me cook a meal for all of us." He reached out a tender, long fingered hand toward her cheek. "You look as if you could do with someone caring for you for a while." 

"Thank you," she said, nodding. 

** 

"Why don't you rest until it's done?" he suggested, already starting to unwind the sash from around his waist. They stood on no ceremony, they did not need to. From the moment she had saved his life he had adopted her as his little sister, and she likewise looked on him as a brother, and loved him dearly as such and only in that manner – even though she could not deny that he was as attractive in his own way as was Ardeth. 

His face was oval, though a long oval shape with the slightest of dimples at the chin. His lips were full and sat perfectly centred beneath a nose that was as sharp as his ever seeing eyes, a deep brown colour, intense and expressive. He was clean shaven now, though she had seen him when he had grown whiskers on his face in the same goatee shape as her husband, though lighter, always lighter when he grew it at all. 

He reached behind him with his tapered hands to pull the thong that held his raven locks, shoulder length with the slightest of waves that curled his hair in sweeping shapes around his collar, customarily tied back. 

With a quiet sigh, she lay down on her bed and continued to watch him as he slipped off his outer robe, and folded it over the back of a chair. He was taller, perhaps by but a fraction than Ardeth, but not much. And as he pulled off his shirt to wash the dust from his body, tipping some water from his water skin into a small bowl by the door, she saw that he had not been slack in keeping himself in good shape. 

He chuckled, "When are you going to stop worrying about me? I'm well, look." He turned around full circle to let her examine him with her eyes. "I've even had my sacred marks replaced." 

"I'm sorry," she said and closed her eyes, fighting with a sudden wave of nausea. 

"Don't be." He took a clean shirt from in his saddle bag and pulled it over his now clean body. "It's nice to know that you care." 

He came to the side of her bed then, bringing Khalidah with him, who had been running around under his feet as he changed, and handed the child into her arms. 

"Come on, Meiri. Close your eyes and get some rest." He brushed her hair back off her face. His touch was warm and gentle and made her heart ache. 

"Did everything go well?" she asked, the question almost forcing its way out of her lips, even though she did not want the answer. She had seen in her vision of the night before that it had gone well enough for the marriage to be consummated. 

Rashid sighed. "Habibti, they are married now," he said nothing more except. "Rest… try… for me?" 

** 

_Sunset… dusk as befit the mood of the warrior she watched on the dune, the sand behind him swirling into a storm that looked as though it was waiting to break over the Medjai gathered beneath._

_"Asma'i forgive me…" he whispered against the sleeve of his desert robe. Moving slowly, purposefully he loaded the rifle, cocked it and brought it to his shoulder, raising his eyes on the grizzly scene for the first time._

_Meiri gasped… Rashid…_

_"Ma'as-salaama, habibti," he whispered and squeezed the trigger._

_The gunshot sent her tumbling down the dune in time to watch the sandstorm break over his struggling, grieving body. Somehow he now held a woman, frail and lifeless in his arms. He looked up to peer through the sand at figure, half hidden. She needed to know… Wanted to know… so she rose, heedless of the wind that whipped and tore around her, stinging her body, leaving her bleeding, her clothes as ripped and torn as her flesh._

_"Faithless whore!" the angry mob surrounded her, tearing her clothes still futher. "Couldn't bear to be without a man, so took another woman's husband!"_

_"No!" she turned her eyes through the whirling sandstorm to find his… to find the man she loved… "Rashid, they lie… it isn't true. I love you. I love YOU!"_

_"Rida…" his voice was broken and hollow…_

_Sand settled into darkness, the dim lit temple. She paused in the doorway and whispered a quiet charm before stepping within. He turned to face her. She gasped at his magnificence. He was shining with it. His dark hair fell in curls around his shoulders. The muscles on his oiled chest flexed as he held out his strong hands toward her and lower, beneath the drape of cloth that covered him, his firmly shaped thighs and calves bunched and relaxed as they carried him closer._

_"Sister, Wife," The tone of his voice stirred her body to life, as he wrapped her in his embrace and bent his head to drink deeply of her willing mouth. Hot… he was hot, too hot and she felt as though she was drowning in his kiss…_

_It always turned sour with the kiss…_

_A woman laughed, she was terrifying, pale and beautiful in dark blue silks. The stars from the heavens seemed to have fallen into the clothes she wore like the night itself. Her cruel eyes, outlined in the ancient way and filled with rage pinned her in place._

_"Mine…" words whispered around her almost as though they had form, like serpents, "He must be mine. Give him to me… give him to me now…!"_

_Meiri felt herself grabbed and turned to find herself face to face with Ardeth. She stared into the anger in his eyes as he grasped her shoulders almost painfully, uncompromising in his strength and determination._

_"Give me back my son…!"_

_Falling to the dusty floor… a drop of blood and pain… such pain that she cried out and wrapped her arms around herself… Turning as she fell she found herself in an unfamiliar room. Faceless white figures moved through the spaces around the woman who lay in the pangs of childbirth on the small bed. She could not see the face, and could not lean up for the pain in her own belly as real and intense as those that had the woman crying out…_

_"Oh God, no!" the voice was afraid, light, high and familiar. She moaned in denial, blood spreading over the light linen beneath her, spilling onto the floor to pool around Meiri in a way she had known and was horribly familiar…_

"No, please," she whispered out of the dream. 

_Blood… a drop of blood falling, falling to stain white linen and a cry of pain… the bloodied head of child between risen thighs… being born… a dark head of curls._

_"A son," a gentle voice said quietly, and stroked the woman's head as she lifted the child into his mother's arms._

"Ardeth's son," she moaned, "Ashna…!" 

_A woman… and the warrior turned… veiled… and dipped a confused obeisance. He spoke, but Meiri could not hear the words. The woman stepped closer, seductively, her hands reaching for the front of his robes, slipping inside._

_"Please," he said, "This is not ri…" A look of genuine horror entered his eyes and the woman pulled her hand away to reveal the knife, curved… dark with his blood, still dripping even as she drove it home again…_

"Ardeth…" she breathlessly wrapped her arms around her, fighting with the unseen force that tried to stop her. 

_"You tease me," he growled and rolled over, so that he was over her, so that he could claim her as she knew he wanted. His dark curls fell to shield the face of the woman into whose body he gave himself with such passionate emotion._

_She heard the woman gasp, and the arms around him became tense for all of a heartbeat, before they relaxed, before they pulled him again toward her and she moaned as he claimed her a second time…_

"Please, don't… it isn't me… it…" She thought she heard a voice, alien to the dream but shook it away. 

_"And you encouraged her, thinking to bring about your prophesy?"_

_"We encourage her belief in herself, nothing more. We mistook the touch of the High Priest of Osiris for divinity around her. We were wrong, First Medjai…"_

"Ardeth…" she couldn't draw breath. Needed help and felt pain beginning to spread through her. 

_"Kem?" Her soft hands came down on his naked shoulders, and her voice caressed him as her hands travelled up to take his hands from his face. "What is it? What's wrong?"_

_He drew her down into his lap and wrapped her tightly in his arms. He couldn't contain the sob. "I love you Asru."_

"Unspeak the words, my heart… come to silence my Sekhemkare!" 

_"So with all power that is mine as First Medjai – as Sekhmet to Ra, so are we to Pharaoh – I make this decree and seal it before the Gods in my blood."_

_He drew a dagger from his belt and ran it, swift and deep across the palm of his hand, letting the red of his life blood fall to the hardened sand at Pharaoh's feet. "From this day forth, no man among the Medjai may place hand or even eye upon a woman of the Usertim. I forbid it. Pharaoh forbids it and the Gods themselves… By my life blood I swear that any Medjai breaking this interdiction will bring upon himself and his fellows the curse of ill luck in battle as in life, that his line will not survive. Know that this decision was not reached lightly… nor will there be mercy and nor will it be revoked until such time as the harm to our people brought by this act is undone." He weakened then, and looked across to Asru… she was supported by the Usertim on each side of her as though she hadn't the strength to stand. He swallowed hard, allowing the morning sun to blind the sight from his eyes._

** 

"No, please," he barely heard the whisper, but turned and saw the way she tossed her head against the pillow. Rashid stood up from where he was just turning the slices of lamb around in the pan that rested on the fire, and wiping his hand went over to sit on the side of her bed. 

"Meiri, it's okay… it's just a dream," he murmured, stroking his fingers through her hair. He noticed it was damp with sweat. 

"Ardeth's son," she moaned, "Ashna…!" 

"Stop this now." He shook her a little, but still she did not wake. 

"Ardeth…" she wrapped her arms around her, fighting him as he tried to wake her, realising with growing horror that it was not just a dream, but was one of those dreams – the dreams that Ardeth always feared when she had them. 

"Meiri, please wake up. Don't do this… you don't need this," he lifted her away from the pillows, to cradle her in his arms. 

"Please, don't… it isn't me… it…" She pushed against him, then clutched at him in the same moment, as though she were trying to shake him and then stiffened in his arms and grimaced as though she felt great pain. 

"Ardeth…" she seemed as though she couldn't draw breath. "Unspeak the words, my heart… come to silence my Sekhemkare!" 

"Enough." Frantic, almost panicking, he did the only thing he could think of doing, and slapped her lightly around the face… 

** 

_Images overlaid, one on the next, like a slideshow, rapid and painful, flickering one after the other… painted hands on a seven rayed star… voices crying out, gasping… pain and pleasure… the cry of a child, a new born… a dark-curled head, still wet with the blood of his birth… "Give me back my son!" Blood of becoming… blood of death… "Oh God, No…" a moan of denial…of pleading… of loss… "Rick… RICK!" A gun… a knife… "Give it to me…" blood flowing over a knife, held in a small hand, and a figure, face down in a spreading stain of blood… a robed figure… dark curls spilling from beneath a wrapped head… blood of death… blood of… blood…_

A light slap to her cheek startled her out of the nightmare to find herself held, securely against Rashid's muscled chest. Nausea rushed in, as it always did when she woke so suddenly. She pushed at him, but he wouldn't let her go. 

"Meiri, calm…" he said as she struggled with him. "It was a dream… nothing more… a dream…" 

"Rashid," she gasped, "Please, let go… I… I…" 

She swallowed hard trying to fight the rising urge to vomit as the room once more began to spin. He must have recognised the colour she had turned, or maybe recognised her shaking, for he quickly brought her to the bowl in the corner of the room, and stood by, gently stroking her back while she was sick. 

Shaking still, she leaned exhausted against the wall. She didn't fight when he scooped her up into his arms and carried her back over to the bed. She closed her eyes, tearful now that someone was caring for her. 

"How long?" he asked, returning to her side with a beaker of water. 

"What?" she asked, not really having the strength to hide the truth from him, the question she asked was pointless. 

"Meiri…" He fixed her with a serious expression that pleaded with her to stop playing games. "I am a married man with a daughter of my own that I thought I would never have. I saw you when you were carrying Suhayl, and again Khalidah…" 

She sighed and he stopped speaking. 

"Almost three months," she said softly. 

"And you have not told Ardeth, have you?" he said. The tone he used told her that he already knew the answer to the question. He sighed when she shook her head. 

"And neither must you," she said. 

"Meiri, why?" he caught her by the shoulders. "It is his child, he should know…" 

"You know full well that if Ardeth finds that I am with child, he will bring me back to al-Kharga and all the good his marriage to Ashna has brought to the twelve tribes will be undone." She picked up Khalidah into her arms and cuddled the child close, pushing Rashid's hands away from her shoulders. "It will all have been for nothing." 

He stood up, and paced away. She could tell that he understood what she was saying. Then he turned to face her against and said. "Meiri, you cannot be alone through this. What if something were to happen…?" 

She shivered… 

"Nothing will happen, Rashid," she forced herself to say. "And if it does, then it is Allah's will…" 

"Do not!" he raised his voice slightly, pointing a finger in her direction. "Keeping this from Ardeth is wrong, no matter what he will do." 

"Rashid, please…" she reached for his hand and drew him down to sit again. "For the sake of everything that has passed between us, I am asking you to keep this from Ardeth… for a while at least." 

Unhappy he snapped, "And if he visits?" 

"He will not," she said amid her tears. "He must stay with Ashna these three weeks, and then the Elders will contrive to keep him at her side until she too is with child. You know this. You know the way they work." _And by then it will all be done with…_

"I will not leave you here alone, Meirionnydd," he said firmly. 

"You have no choice," she countered as strongly as she could. 

"Do I not," he challenged softly, and moved away to go and serve the meal that he had cooked. More than ever, she needed it, even though she did not feel like eating at all. 

** 

She turned from her patient. He was still sleeping thank goodness, though it was hardly a surprise. She had given him enough laudanum to knock out an elephant. She turned back to face the man and his son, Alex, she presumed, who had entered the room only moments before. 

"So, Mister O'Connell, suppose you tell me just what's been going on that would make this man want to take his own life?" 

"No way!" Alex said, outraged and turned to his father. "Uncle Jon tried to kill himself?" 

"Alex, maybe you should go… wait outside." Rick said. 

"I'm not going anywhere," the boy argued. "I'm not a kid any more. I'm twelve years old for God's sake! You can't try and keep me away from these things any more." 

"Alex…" his father warned. 

"Gentlemen…" she said, trying to stop the noise from rising any futher and waking Jonathan. "Mister O'Connell, I asked you a question." 

"You don't want to know," he answered. 

"Actually I rather do, and if I don't start getting some answers soon, I'm going to have to contact the authorities." 

"I don't think so," Rick folded his arms across his chest. "And even if I did tell you… you wouldn't believe me. So what's the point?" 

"Why don't you try me?" She sat on the side of the bed. 

She watched as the man glanced at his son, and the boy shrugged back. Then Rick O'Connell turned back in her direction. 

"It's a long story," he said. 

"He's not going to be waking for a while," she answered and then listened with growing incredulity as the man, with Alex's help told her a story full of ancient curses, walking mummies, pygmies big bugs, and warriors made of sand and blood. 

"Jonathan killed a very good friend of ours while he was under Seth's control. Ardeth was…" 

"Whoa, Mister O'Connell," she held up her hand, finally not able to stomach any more. "You can stop right there. I've met Mr Bay, spoken to him and I can assure you he is very much alive." 

"Well of course he is," Rick continued, unperturbed, "But you see I told you you wouldn't believe me." 

"This had better be good, Mister…" 

"Would you please start calling me Rick?" he snapped, "Or at the very least, just O'Connell." 

"It had still better be good, because so far this sound like a fairy story," she said crossly. 

"But it's true," Alex protested. 

"Look lady!" Rick walked over to Jonathan's side and looked down on his pale face under Jenny's disapproving glare. "He's been through a lot. He's been possessed; killed a good friend; witnessed his resurrection… and now his sister is missing – Evy, my wife… and whoever has taken her also has in their possession part of a powerful artefact that has the ability to unleash all kind of unholy terrors on the earth. As of this moment I don't care if you believe me or not. I don't have _time_ for this. I need to go and find Ardeth. _We…_ need to go and find Ardeth. So thank you very much for saving my brother-in-law and all, but…" 

"He's my patient, O'Connell," she said. "If he's going anywhere, then I'm going too." 

He looked at her for a moment, a look of total shock on his face. 

"No," he said softly. 

"No?" she asked. 

"No," he repeated. "I know what you're thinking and the answer is no." 

"He _needs_ a doctor, O'Connell," she pressed, hoping that she had misunderstood his last comment, and that he had not seen though her, but then how would he? She'd said she had met Ardeth Bay, but now how, why or in what capacity, and she got the impression from the telegram that he and the Medjai leader had not seen each other in quite some time. 

"I can't in all conscience take a woman like you out into the desert." O'Connell said. "Especially not one who doesn't believe the kind of things we've been through and would likely get herself into all kinds of trouble because of it." 

"What, so because I don't believe your fairy-tale you're not going to take me along, is that it?" She paced up and down the bedroom. 

"Can you fire a gun?" he asked, folding his arms once more. "Have you ever been in a fight? Can you read ancient Egyptian? Speak Arabic?" 

"I can't do any of those things O'Connell, no. But I _am_ a qualified doctor, a psychologist – which is precisely what your brother-in-law needs. He's obviously suffering from the trauma of, well whatever it is that he's been through," she held up her hand to stop him from interrupting, "And if it was the things you said in your story, well frankly that's all the _more_ reason for me to come along. The mind is not meant to deal with those kind of fantastic events and…" 

"Fine!" he snapped and threw up his arms. 

"Fine," she answered, and hearing a light moan from the bed, her patient coming round, she walked over and picked up his hand to take his pulse. 

"Fine…" O'Connell snapped. "Alex… come on. We gotta go see if there's any word from Ardeth." 

Alex's gaze lingered a few moments longer on his uncle before he too turned and followed his father out of the door. After finding Jonathan's pulse to be quite normal she sat for many long moments, still holding his hand. She wondered why it was, now that she suddenly had what she wanted, she didn't feel quite so good about it. 

** 

What guided her steps… how she even knew where she was going, she did not know. All she knew was the incredible boiling darkness she felt inside her, and the pull of the power she knew would relieve it. 

She took a deep breath and without even waiting for permission, she pushed back the canvass doorway and entered the tent. She heard the ring of steel of a scimitar leaving the sheath and tightened her grip, behind her back, on her small knife. 

"Come one step closer and I will cut you down where you stand," he said firmly. Although he spoke in Arabic, the power flowing through her allowed her understanding. 

"I do not think so," she said. And at the sound of her voice, he turned and his serious face and fierce demeanour gave way to a soft, delighted smile and he sheathed his blade. 

"Forgive me," he said softly. "I did not realise…" 

"Give it to me," she instructed. 

"Excuse me?" Ghalib took a step back, moving his hand to rest his wrist once more on the blade of his sword. 

"I said give it to me…" She stepped closer to him, reaching up with her hands… "Three years… is such a long time. You must be so very lonely." 

She slipped her hands inside the front of his robes to run her fingers over the hairs of his chest. 

"Please, do not…" he caught her wrist. "This is not ri…" 

She looked up into the horror she saw enter his eyes as she turned her wrist inside his robe, and the small razor-sharp knife slipped between his ribs. She twisted again, twisting the knife and heard him cry out in pain, beginning to sink to his knees… 

"W-h…y?" he gasped with his last breath. 

** 

She sat up with a start to the metallic scent of blood. It covered her… covered her clothes and her hands… she turned over, found a corner and wretched… but it had been so long since she had eaten, that nothing came up. 

She turned her head and looked at the body of the Medjai on the floor of the tent. She had done this… she knew – though could remember nothing of it… 

Just the desperation… the need to get back that which she had lost… and then the darkness, the anger and that rage that had fallen over her. She felt the sorrow and despair rushing in again… put back her head, and howled until her throat was dry and sore. 


	8. Echoes

Author's note: Thanks must go to Candybutton for her wonderful visual used in the middle of this chapter.   


  


Chapter 8 

  
  


She had woken early. Rashid was still sleeping, as was Khalidah. She had a moment's peace to herself so went out onto the rise outside the caves to watch the sunrise and closed her eyes to let the growing light bathe her face and tried to wash away the image she had seen for the last three nights running. The Medjai warrior, face down, so that she could not tell who it was, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. 

The weight of a cloak settling around her shoulders startled her, and she felt Rashid pull her back into the circle of his arms. 

"It isn't him, Meiri," he said softly. 

"Then who is it?" she asked. 

"I do not know," he turned her around then, and smoothed her hair back from her face, "But I do know that if you keep on worrying like this, you put yourself, and the child you carry in danger." 

"Rashid," she leaned against him, suddenly tired, "Even if it isn't Ardeth, it is someone, and if my warning can prevent the needless death of one of our people then I have to give it to him." 

"They would not let you see him," Rashid gently kissed her forehead and started to lead her back inside. "But if you will promise me that you will stop worrying, I will take a message to him." 

"Is it enough that I promise to try and stop," she asked as they came into the dwelling. "Because that is as close as I think I can come." 

He gave her a meaningful look and then said, "All right, but there is then a further condition…" 

"No, Rashid, you cannot tell him…" 

"I was not going to suggest I did. My condition is that you allow me to bring Ghayda to stay with you for a little while," he said. He sat down beside her and took her hands in his. 

"She would hate it here," she said, alarmed that he would even think such a thing. "And what of your daughter? Who would care for her if Ghayda were here?" 

"Then I will bring them both. Nabilah will think it a great adventure," he laughed slightly. "And she will make a good playmate for Khalidah." 

Meiri sighed and then nodded her agreement. "All right, but please, Rashid, I fear to delay. Please go to him now, and tell him what I have seen. There are things happening in this desert that are being hidden from him – deliberately. There is one close who keeps things from him and another that is as a snake at his breast. I fear all these things have come together for a reason, and the reason is not good." 

"I will tell him, Meirionnydd," Rashid let go of her hands and began preparing to leave. "Do not fear." 

** 

Silas shuddered at his own appearance as he passed through the hallway and saw his scarred face in the mirror that hung there. The scar was angry and red, the fresh cut of a curved blade across his cheek. 

He grinned a wide and evil leer that made the scar crack and ooze fluid down his cheek. At least the man that gave it to him no longer drew breath. He and all his misbegotten companions lay in pieces around the site. 

And all for what? A rotted body and a few old jars in a musty old chest. 

"You managed to reach the temple then?" He looked up into the flawless face of Ananiah Roche. He held a little child in his lap. She was stroking his hair, and speaking softly to him in a strange language. 

"Of course we reached the temple." 

"And the Medjai?" the little girl leaped off Ananiah's lap and ran on tiny feet to take his hand. The moment she touched him he felt the un-natural power of her in the way his body began to respond to the energies flowing through him. In his mind he saw a dark and cruelly beautiful woman, blunt cut dark hair framing her naked shoulders. Her eyes were filled with rage. 

He stumbled, snatched his hand away from the girl's and looked at her in horror, and then back at Ananiah. 

"Keep this little witch away from me," he said. "You promised me…" 

"I know what I promised…" Ananiah answered. "And you will have her. But first…" 

"Mine…" the girl whispered, echoing the words he had heard as he had seen the image of the woman. "He must be mine… Give him to me. Give him to me now!" 

"All right, all right," Silas said. "Keep you hair on!" 

"What _of_ the Medjai," Ananiah asked as him, as his men came in behind him, carrying with them a large plain wood, coffin shaped crate. "They are all dead I trust. We cannot have word getting back to their homeland now. We do not want the Divine Child becoming involved in all this." 

"Divine child?" he said, echoing Ananiah's words. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. All I know is that those bloody Medjai take a lot of killing. I lost a lot of men getting this, and…" 

"You will get your reward." Ananiah reached out and took the hand of the beautiful woman at his side. "Go to him, my dear." 

Silas watched as she shivered, but none the less complied. When she was close enough he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her fiercely against his side, crushing her mouth with his kiss. She struggled but then acquiesced to his attentions. He could barely wait to get her alone in the chambers they had given him. 

** 

He opened his eyes and breathed deeply in the early morning air, and the fragrance of jasmine hit him full force as his wife moved in his arms, settling against him more firmly, as if something had chilled her. 

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a gentle kiss against the point at which her neck and shoulder joined. 

"Ardeth," she moaned softly. "I was sleeping." 

"If you were sleeping," he chuckled, "You would not have felt my kiss." 

"Not fair," she turned in his arms and pouted up at him. "I hate your logic." 

"Of course you do," he agreed, and dipped his head to take her pouting lip into his mouth. She moaned again as he deepened the kiss, and hesitantly wrapped her arms around him, her fingers gently played against his spine and grabbed the tatters of his resolve and built them into a tower of passion that was centred in his loins. 

He had promised himself he would not push her, but now, after three days married – waking and sleeping with her in his arms he was beginning to weaken. He pulled back gently out of the kiss and stroked his own fingers along the same line her touch had taken on his body. She shivered. 

"Am I still to meet Suhayl today?" she asked, almost as if she were deliberately changing the subject. 

"Ashna, ya hilawi, I told you, you can meet him when you feel ready. It does not have to be at the behest of any other." He saw the expression, concern and fear all mixed that entered her eyes, before she blinked quickly to contain the water that was rising in its wake. 

"I know," she whispered, "Only…" 

"Only what?" he nudged her face back up to meet his gaze when she looked away. 

"Do you think I will ever give you children?" Her bottom lip trembled as she asked him the question. 

He gently passed his thumb across her lips and said firmly, "Do you feel Suhayl threatens you… threatens us?" 

"No, not that," she said quickly. "Never that." 

"Ashna," he breathed her name, and gathered her as close to him as he could. "I wish you would not do this… This will only work if we are honest with each other. I have told you, and I mean what I say, I will think no less of you, or of any child we may have together as I do of any of my children. Each one of you is a precious gift from Allah, and I do, and shall, cherish you all." 

"Forgive me," she breathed against his neck. 

"No," he said firmly, and caught her face between his hands as she pulled out of his arms and looked up suddenly fearful at him. "For there is nothing to forgive." 

"Ardeth," she turned her head to kiss one of his thumbs and trembling noticeably asked, "Please… love me?" 

He smiled and kissed her then, almost laughing as he realised what had brought on her sudden fear. In holding back his attentions from her, meaning to spare her from feeling overwhelmed by his physical strength and passion he had let her believe that he thought less of her, and did not want a child of their union. He never could understand a woman's logic. 

"Come here," he commanded tenderly, and eased her once more into the circle of his arms. 

He began slowly; almost lazy in the way he caressed her back and the soft curves of her behind before sliding his hand under her arms to pass firmer caresses over the even softer curves of her breasts. 

He swallowed her answering moan with a deeply passionate kiss, his tongue possessing her mouth as his hands caressed her skin. He drew circles around her breasts drawing closer and closer to the centre until he could carefully tease her nipple, already hardened under his touch and breaking the kiss, lowered his head to take it into his mouth. 

She arched her back beneath him and clutched at his arms. She threw her head back against the pillows and cried out softly and then scraped her nails maddeningly up his arms and over his shoulders until she could wind her fingers into his hair. 

He growled a low, soft growl and pressed himself against her hip, enjoying the feel of her soft skin against his growing arousal. He moved his hand to pass his fingers over her stomach and lower, to coax her still shy legs to open to his touch, letting the honey of her desire run over his fingers as he teased her, making her more and more ready to receive him into the sacred hollow of her body. 

She moaned as he pressed a long and dexterous finger inside her and withdrew it again. Letting the side of his hand and his thumb gently squeeze against the swollen nub in between her shielding flesh. 

"Habibi, no," she breathed, starting to tremble where she lay, half beneath him. "Not like this please I want… I need…" 

"You will, Kalila, I promise," his breathed, his kisses climbing to find her lips again as he continued to softly stroke her inside with the caresses of his fingers. Only a moment later she turned her head to break the kiss and clutched at his back as the trembling became the fierce squeezing rush of her climax against his touch. 

Carefully, slowly… he removed the caress and cradled her cheek against his own as she calmed, then lying back he drew her with him, holding her on top of him and kissing her deeply. 

** 

She grabbed onto his shoulders as he rolled the two of them over, uncertain… unsure and still reeling from the force of the rush of sensation that had broken over her only moments before. 

"Take me into your softness, ya hasnai," he said softly. 

"I can't," she whispered, afraid to disappoint him with her ineptitude. 

He smiled up at her gently, and reached up to caress her cheek. 

"You can," he whispered back, full of concern as he reached behind her head to draw her lips down to meet with his, "Just listen to what you feel, trust your body," 

Trust her body? She felt empty without his touch; needing something, needing the feel of him… he was pressed against her thigh, trapped between their bodies. She leaned up again. Closing her eyes raised her body so that he would settle between her legs. She felt his hands slide deliciously slowly to her hips, guiding her… teaching her… He eyes filled with tears behind her concealing lids. 

She felt the press of him against her and almost tensed, remembering the last time… her first time… Shifting a little more, she began to sink onto him, feeling him gliding inside. Filling her completely – no pain this time, just an incredibly fiery need to reach the ache inside. 

She pressed against him and gasped as their hips finally met, moaning with him as he wrapped his arms around her to still her for a moment. 

She opened her eyes to find him watching her, watching her face and the expressions that she knew must be darting there. She bit her lip and he smiled, moving beneath her, his movement echoing within. She moaned, and leaned forward, supporting herself on his chest as they began to move together, rocking against each other, as she raised and lowered herself against him with maddening slowness, trying to feel each moment more deeply than the last. 

She felt as if she were growing heavier, and the ache she sought to reach merely moved further and further away as she tried to move faster, almost undulating over him, the feelings were delicious and deep but they were not enough. 

"Ardeth…" she gasped. 

As if he had read her mind he wrapped her in a strong embrace and turned them, taking control from her with a passionate kiss that left her more than breathless… drowning in him as he pulled away, and entered her again slowly… deeply… completely. 

"Is this what you wanted," he growled against her shoulder, and nipped her neck softly. She could not answer, words were beyond her capacity. She wound her arms around his back and encouraged him with touches instead, tracing the length of his spine, and cupping the firm strong globes of his buttocks in her small hands. 

Shared passion guided where words and touches alone could not, gathering what was left of their need and winding it tightly around them both, until breathlessly, crying out with the intensity that threatened consciousness itself, she came apart beneath him, bucking and trembling around and against him as she felt him follow her a heartbeat after, filling her with the heat of his liquid life, and falling against her, breathing hard against her shoulder. 

She reached up a hand that still trembled to brush her fingers through his hair. 

** 

Nebkhat peeled herself away from the mirror, moaning as she turned away from the dark sensation and vision she had seen in the glass. She knew that Ananiah had watched her from the shadows of the room through it all – and knew the effect it would have on him. She smiled evilly and turned to face the frightened man that stood before the dais, holding the heavy book in his arms until she was ready to read from it. 

"Open the book," she hissed in the ancient tongue. 

Ananiah came from the shadows then. His dark robes swishing lightly on the steps as he approached the human lectern. He peeled the covers of the book apart and then walked to the wooden crate and peeled back the lid. 

She watched with a hideous smile as he recoiled from the site within. 

"What did you expect after three thousand years?" she asked. "But no matter, it is only temporary. When that little whore of yours has finished satisfying Silas, he and his men will restore our ally to full strength." 

"And then?" Ananiah returned to her side and took her tiny hand in his to help her down the steps. 

"Then I shall once again have My Husband returned to this earthly plain… And when Anpu is born, we shall raise him together. Without the softening influence of our gentle sister we will see what kind of place the world we make will be." 

"But this man was High Priest of your husband's rival," Ananiah said. 

"Know you nothing of your recent history, mortal creature!" she snapped. "He has tasted the power of My Divine Husband; had it snatched from him and will, I'm sure, be amenable to Our suggestion that he abandon the weakling Asar Saa and join Our Divine plan." 

"I was not questioning your wisdom, Lady," Ananiah said quickly. "I merely wished to understand." 

"Besides," she nodded her understanding of his rapid backtracking. "This one and only one other has seen where I cannot…" 

"And what of the other." 

"She is far too dangerous, even to us," the child sized Goddess mused, before she turned her attention to the book, still held by the mute almost catatonic man. 

** 

She was actually terrified. She couldn't believe she was so very afraid of meeting a three year old child. Ardeth had gone to fetch his son from his sister's tent a few minutes before, leaving her to fret, and pace the floor of her home. 

She could have gone with him, he offered, but she had worried that Suhayl might make a fuss as embarrass him in front of the entire settlement. So she had opted to stay at home. That and… she blushed as she remembered the morning and the tenderness she still felt. 

"Who is, baba?" The little voice startled her out of her reverie. She opened her eyes to look at the child held in Ardeth's arms, pointing toward her. He was very like his father; brown button eyes were bright and inquisitive. His raven hair though still relatively short hung is slight curls around his face. His nose was sharp, though it sat perfectly on his face. Ashna couldn't remember very much about Meiri, but she was sure that Suhayl had her high cheeks and softly rounded chin. The effect was breathtaking; he was a painfully beautiful child. 

"This is the lady I told you about, my son," Ardeth answered, setting the boy down on the ground, only to have him take hold of the side of his robes. Ashna smiled at his shyness. "She is my wife." 

"Well as mama?" Suhayl frowned up at his father. 

Ardeth sighed down at him and raised his eyebrows but she held out her hand in Ardeth's direction. 

"It's all right," she said, and swallowing, crouched down to Suhayl's height. "Yes, little one, as well as your mother." 

Suhayl moved a little behind his father and peeped out. Ashna smiled and added, "And I was hoping maybe you and I could become friends, so that when your baba has to go away to watch in the desert, I will have a brave little warrior to look after me." 

She saw Ardeth's mouth twitch at the corners into the slightest of smiles. Suhayl came out again to the side of his father and frowned at her. He looked as though he was thinking very serious thoughts. 

"Can I stay with you and baba now?" he asked at last. 

"Soon, little man," Ardeth answered before she could say anything. 

"When!" Suhayl demanded in typical three year old fashion. 

"Suhayl," Ardeth warned. The boy fell silent, his bottom lip trembling slightly to have heard his father's stern voice. She didn't want to undermine Ardeth's authority with the boy, but she did suddenly need to make contact with him. 

She gave her husband a look that he hoped he would understand as conveying those intentions and said softly, "Come here, Suhayl." 

The boy looked up at Ardeth, who nodded, still looking quite stern. Suhayl hesitantly crossed the room toward her, to take her outstretched hand, with the henna still visible on the palms and the back of her hand. Another little frown crossed his face and he looked back to Ardeth's hands and then with his little fingers began to trace the Mendhi patterns on her hand. 

"The painting on my hands will fade, little one," she said. "And when it does, then you will come here." 

"And you will look after me?" he asked, "Like Aunty did?" 

"Yes," she told him, trying not to look at Ardeth as he folded his arms to watch the exchange. "Because your aunt will have a baby of her own to care for." 

Again the infant's face creased in the frown that showed he was thinking. 

"Won't you will have a baby soon?" he looked back at Ardeth and then to Ashna again. 

"One day," she said. "God willing." 

"And then who will look after me?" he frowned still deeper and put his hands on his hips. But the frown tinged with the same trembling lip that she had seen when Ardeth had spoken harshly to him. 

"I will always be here to look after you," she told him, fighting back her tears, as she realised the child was afraid. "I promised your mother." 

Suhayl looked deeply into her eyes then. She felt as if he were searching inside her to see if what she said was true. She looked inside him too, to the frightened little child that missed his mother and was desperate for Meiri to hold him, to love him and comfort him in ways his father could not. 

Cautiously she reached for him, slipping her hands around his slender waist and easing him forward. She expected him to resist; was even ready for him to run crying back to Ardeth, but he surprised her entirely, by throwing his arms around her neck and launching himself at her. She held him tightly, and stood up, only to have him wrap in legs around her too. 

"You see," Ardeth crossed the room to stand with her, behind her… supporting her as she held his son. "I told you he would like you." 

"You know your son well," she said softly. She meant to add that she had seen his fear of abandonment but a loud exchange of voices from nearby interrupted. Arguing about whether or not he should be disturbed. 

** 

"He is with his wife and his son," a familiar voice grated against Ardeth's nerves. He leaned forward and planted a delicate kiss on the side of Ashna's cheek and stroked his son's head. 

"Stay with Ashna for a moment," he instructed firmly as his son peeked up him. Then to Ashna added, "I will settle this." 

"Let's get you something to drink," he heard Ashna say to Suhayl as he moved away from them toward the door of his home. 

As he stepped outside he saw Mohammed arguing with Bahir and one of the Brothers from his Chosen, Essam. 

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked sternly, directing the full force of his annoyance toward the tribe's Elder. 

"First Medjai," Mohammed said quietly. "These men were attempting to disturb your privacy with your new wife." 

"So instead of coming to quietly inquire if I would mind the disturbance, you chose to bother the whole of the oasis with your boorish pigheadedness?" he snapped. "Leave us." 

"But First Medjai," 

"I said, _leave_ us," he repeated. As he expected, the two men of his Chosen turned to face the Elder and rested their wrists on the hilts of their blades in defence of their leader and friend. Only when Mohammed was well out of earshot did Ardeth ask, quietly but still firmly. "So, what has happened to bring you from Cairo, Bahir?" 

"It may be nothing, Ardeth." Bahir answered. "But this was sent to you." 

Ardeth took the piece of paper from his hand and quickly opened and read the message from his friend. He frowned. Evelyn missing – and the handle taken from where the O'Connells guarded it – he sighed and checked the date. 

"Leave this with me," he commanded. "I will think on the matter and decide what best to do. I cannot leave the oasis, so it may be that I have to send someone to bring O'Connell to me." 

"First Medjai," Essam and Bahir nodded in obedience. 

"In the mean time, Essam, choose ten good warriors to make up a patrol and return to me at sundown. I will provide for you the locations of the Seven Guardians. I want you to check that all is well with them." 

"Ardeth," he said, and with a respectful nod he turned and left. 

"Something on your mind, my Brother?" Bahir asked when he too did not turn and go back inside to his family. 

"Has Rashid returned, yet?" 

"No," Bahir answered, "His horse is not in the coral." 

"Watch for him, and have him come to me… quietly… as soon as he returns," he said. 

"As you wish," Bahir answered obediently. 

Ardeth nodded and went back inside. He picked up his son who came racing across to greet him and accepted the cup of steaming tea from his wife's soft hand. He sighed. 

"Did you behave, my son?" he asked, sitting beside Ashna with Suhayl in his lap. 

"Yes, baba," the boy answered, "Ashna was telling a story from _her_ mama." 

"Was she now?" he raised an eyebrow in Ashna's direction and smiled when she blushed. "I shall have to get her to tell _me_ that story some time." 

He picked up her hand and caressed it briefly, before raising it to his lips. 

"Is it bad?" she asked, sounding fearful. 

He let go of her hand and put his arm around her to draw her closer. She pressed herself against his side, still a little stiff, and he turned his head to kiss her temple. 

"I do not yet know the extent of just how bad, but…" he sighed. 

"When will you need to leave?" she asked softly, sounding as if she were on the verge of tears. 

He let go of Suhayl, who raced away to play on the other side of the rug, to turn and take her fully into his arms. He caught her chin on his fingers, raising her face so that her eyes would meet his. 

"I am not going anywhere," he told her firmly. "If necessary I will send some of my men to bring O'Connell here to speak with me. But until I know just what is going on, I am staying here, at your side. Understand?" 

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "That was wrong of me." 

"Yes it was," he agreed, but none the less gently kissed her upturned mouth briefly. He ran his fingers through her hair and then traced along her spine with his right hand, until he reached the small of her back, and eased her closer to him, pressing her body firmly against his as he took her lips in a much deeper kiss, tasting the shape of the soft moan that escaped her mouth at his caress. 

He let her go then, and she blushed when she they turned and found Suhayl watching them intently, with wide eyes. He smiled and traced the shape of her blush with a gentle touch and then stood up, going to the small table that contained his writing things. 

"Will you two friends be all right for a moment," he asked Suhayl, adding more for Ashna's sake, "I need to write my orders for some of my men." 

Behind him he heard Suhayl scamper across to Ashna and saw her take him into her lap before her soft voice took up the tale she had been telling his son, when he went out to speak with his men. It was a traditional Medjai story of the warrior Suleiman, for whom her uncle was named, and his prowess against the raiding hoards of the Mayarli, a long dead Tuareg tribe. 

He smiled to himself and shook his head as he took up the pen and began to write the names and locations of the Seven Guardians for Essam and then he once more pulled the telegram from inside his robes and read the urgent message from his friend. 

He traced his fingers along the top of the typed words, as though he could somehow touch his friend's worry and take it from him and then he read the hurried Arabic script that had been added to the bottom of the note. 

_Ardeth,_

_My secretary has verified that it is indeed from O'Connell. I have arranged accommodation for them at the usual place, but cannot see that O'Connell will wait for long if his wife is truly missing. Please advise…_

_Ali._

Please advise indeed. He sighed again, and felt Ashna's eyes watching him. He turned his head to look at her. Suhayl had fallen asleep on the cushion beside her and she was stroking her fingers gently through his hair. 

At his side, as their eyes met, she got up and hesitantly came to him. He took her hands, easing them forwards so that they slid over shoulders, from where she stood behind him, to cover his heart. His hands covered her wrists and lifted one to his lips, before leaning back into her embrace. 

He closed his eyes and sighed. He missed this… having someone here to support him, to hold him when, like now, he was troubled and decisions that weighed heavy on his shoulders. And he already knew that Suhayl missed a woman's touch – no more than that… he missed his mother, and wonderful as she was proving herself to be, Ashna was not his mother, and would never replace her. 

"Ashna," he started. 

"Ssshhh," she surprised him by kissing the side of his head. "I told you. One day I will find a way to help you bring her home." 

** 

She yelped as arms encircled her waist and a hot kiss pressed into the crook of her neck as her veil fluttered free of her face, then she turned around and smacked her husband without any real force. 

"Rashid, you scared me half to death," she told him. "When did you get back?" 

"Now," he answered, and slipped his arms further around her to press her closer to him. "I missed you." 

"I missed you too," she slid her hands upward on his robes to wrap her arms around his shoulders as he leaned forward to kiss her deeply, holding her against the full length of his body and almost lifting her from the ground. 

They both sighed as the kiss broke. 

"Something is worrying you," he said. 

"And you," she answered. "You go first." 

"No," he frowned. "What I have to say cannot be said here. Come, take me home and tell me what is bothering you." 

She gathered up the blankets she had been washing at the oasis and clipping her veil back into place, she walked beside her husband toward their dwelling. 

"Bahir came to me," she said softly as he took her arm. "Ardeth wants to see you the moment you get back." 

"That makes me late already," he said. "What is it about?" 

"He would not say," she told him as they reached the doorway and went inside. "But I think you should go to him." 

"I will," he said. He took the blankets and helped her to fold them. "And when I am with Ardeth I want you pack some things for you and for Nabilah," 

"You're taking us to Meiri, aren't you," she said. She knew him well enough to be able to read his thoughts sometimes, like now. 

"She is pregnant, Ghayda, and she will not tell Ardeth," his virtually hissed the words as an urgent whisper, "And I may not be a midwife, but I believe that thing are not going well for her. She needs a woman at her side." 

"How far is she, did she tell you that?" Ghayda moved away from him and walked to her medicine chest in the corner of their tent. 

"She said, almost three months." He took her arm and turned her away from what she was doing. "Talk her into coming back with you Ghayda. She cannot be out there alone." 

She reached up to caress his slightly stubbly face. He needed to shave. She smiled at him, full of love. 

"I will do what I can," she promised. 

** 

"One moment," Ardeth turned and spoke softly to his wife before allowing Rashid to enter the house. "Thank you for coming, Rashid. I know you would rather be with Ghayda." 

He smiled and clasped his friend's shoulder. 

"Ardeth, you know I always have time for you, my friend." He bowed slightly to Ashna as she returned to the room, she took Ardeth's outstretched hand and allowed him to draw her into his arms as the three of them sat, and she poured mint tea into three tiny cups. "I trust you are well, my Lady." 

"Thank you, Honoured Second, I am," she said, lowering her eyes shyly. 

"Please," he said. "If your husband permits, I would be honoured to be known to you as Rashid." 

"If I…" Ardeth started laughing softly. "You should hear the two of you." 

Rashid smiled, "Well I wasn't sure. You told her to veil…" 

"I told her you were here," Ardeth cleared his throat. "I gave her the choice. How long have we known each other Rashid?" 

"Since we were boys," he answered. "I don't know." 

"Thirty years or more," Ardeth told him. "You are my oldest and most loyal companion. I have shared almost every moment of my life with you." 

He watched as Ardeth picked up Ashna's hand and kissed the back of it lightly. "Ashna, please," he said to her. "Treat Rashid as though he were my brother. Though he is stubborn and often argumentative, I would not change him for another companion at my side." 

Ashna sighed and tugging her hand free of Ardeth's grasp, she pulled down the veil so that she could sip her tea, withdrawing slightly from the two men. Rashid sensed the former light heartedness dissipate like the steam from the cups and turned his gaze to meet with Ardeth's suddenly serious expression. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"I had a telegram from O'Connell." Ardeth told him. "The handle to the Sistrum of Usert is missing along with Evelyn. I fear I shall need you to go to Cairo to meet O'Connell and bring him here." 

"Is that wise?" he questioned. 

"Wise or not, it is the only option I have." Ardeth said. "Until I know exactly what is going on I have no intention of tearing off frantically across the Sahara, chasing shadows." 

His friend took a sip of his tea before continuing with the explanation of the measures he was taking to get to the bottom of the matter. 

"I have already arranged for Essam to take a patrol to check on the Guardians," he said. 

"And," Rashid hesitated to ask, but knew that he had to, so continued anyway. "What of Meiri and the sistrum's cradle." 

"I do not know, my friend." Ardeth sighed. "Until I am more certain that there is someone seeking to reassemble the sistrum, I am trusting in the secrecy of her location to keep her safe." 

"And what if it's not enough?" Rashid asked. "You know she's been having dreams, visions…" 

"What did she tell you?" 

"She saw a vision of a warrior – she didn't know who, but was frantic with worry that it would be you – lying dead. She asked me to warn you. To tell you to be careful." 

"Is that all?" Ardeth asked. 

"She would not say more," Rashid said tightly. Everything inside him was screaming at him to tell Ardeth about the baby, to get him to bring her home. "Would she truly be so at risk here? Surely Mohammed would not…" 

"I am backed into a corner, Rashid, if I bring her home now, without proof of a danger to the Medjai Oath to keep the creature and his unholy lover where they belong then Mohammed would… yes." Ardeth snapped. "He would do _everything_ he could to discredit my actions and that would throw the tribes into chaos and serve only to increase the dangers." 

"When do you need me to leave?" he asked, knowing that Ardeth was right to be cautious. 

"Leave tomorrow and take Tarek with you," Ardeth instructed. "And go by boat. It will take you half the time to reach Cairo, but return by way of the desert. Much as I like O'Connell I do not want him finding his way here unannounced." 

"All right. I will leave before noon tomorrow," Rashid nodded his agreement. It gave him little enough time to take Ghayda to Meiri. When Ardeth raised a querying eyebrow he added, "I'd like to spend at least some time with my wife." 

** 

Essam held up his hand to halt the Medjai horses, his own shifting nervously under him. Every sense he possessed told him that something was wrong. 

Glancing at his companions he saw that they too felt as he did. He nodded and dismounted, handing the reins up to his chosen second in command. 

"Keep your eyes open," he said softly, and with his hand on the hilt of his blade, hearing the reassuring sound of ten rifles unslung and made ready, he made his way to the tent still pitched in the shadow of the rocks. 

As he got closer he saw that the doorway was unfastened, and the horse, still hobbled between the tent and the rock, looked as though it had seen no care for days. He sighed and whispered a soft prayer to Allah. The one thing a Medjai warrior would never do is leave his horse untended. 

He knew before he opened the tent, and turned aside as the sent and sight of his murdered Brother was revealed to him, that the Medjai Guardian of the First Bell was dead. 

** 

  
  


"Drink this," Ghayda handed a small cup into Meirionnydd's hand. "It should help to calm the sickness." 

"Thank you," she said softly. "I'm sorry that he dragged you all the way out here to care for me. There was no need, there…" 

She stopped as Ghayda sat down beside her and took hold of her hand, and gently commanded her to drink the infusion before it got cold. 

"Meiri," Ghayda stroked her fingers through her hair and smoothed it behind her ear. "Rashid did not order, command, or worse still 'drag' me here at all. He asked. He asked and I gladly agreed to come because you need me here." 

"But it isn't safe here, it…" 

"We are as safe here as we would be at al-Kharga because no one knows we are here," Ghayda argued. "Now, Rashidi asked me to come because he feared that all was not right with you and this child." 

Ghayda laid her hand over her belly, and then Meiri felt her chin taken in the other woman's hand and raised when she tried to look away. 

"He was right, wasn't he?" 

"I fear…" she began softly… "When I see the visions, there is always pain… I fear for the baby and try to push the visions away, but it makes things worse." 

She did not tell Ghayda of the image of the blood, and the vision of a pain greater than those she felt in her body. Another image came to her mind. 

"Ghayda," she said, meaning to change the subject and then hesitated slightly. "Who is Rida?" 

She watched Ghayda expression change to one of sorrow. 

"Did Rashid speak to you of her?" 

"No," she said, "I saw something in a vision that I did not understand, which seemed somehow out of place in all the other images. Who is she?" 

_"Was_ she," Ghayda corrected her. "Rida was the name of Rashid's first wife." 

Meiri gasped, she'd known that somehow. "He loved her…" 

"Very much," Ghayda said. "It almost broke his heart when she died." 

"But…" Meiri frowned in confusion. "He killed her." 

"Is that what your vision showed you?" Ghayda asked softly, sadly. "If it is, then you have shared his dream, the way it always ends for him because the truth is too painful for him to face." 

"I don't understand." She felt the other woman cup her cheek in her hand for a moment in a very motherly gesture. 

"Rashid and Rida had been the best of friends since they were both very young," Ghayda began quietly. "They always believed that they would marry and did. Their first few months together as husband and wife were like… quicksand as they fought to find a way to shift their relationship from that of friends to lovers and constant companions… and when they did woe betide any that got in their way. They loved as no others ever have, but …" 

She shook her head and looked up in wonder. Meiri smiled at the expression and the memories that were obviously flying across her eyes. 

"She could not give him children and eventually she told him to take a second wife so that his line would not be lost." She laughed humourlessly and for a moment squeezed her eyes shut. "Of course he refused. He said he could never love another woman as he did her, and would not _use a woman's gentle nature in such a way just to fulfil an outdated notion of lineage being all important."_

"You sound as though you are quoting him," Meiri said. 

Ghayda smiled. 

"Because I am," she said. "He told her that if she could not give him children of their union then he would take in the orphaned child of one of his warrior Brothers. Rida was such a strong woman, and argued with him that if he did that, he must also take the child's mother into his family – and take her as the second wife that he refused to contemplate. They fought so badly that in the end Kareem was forced to intervene." 

"Ardeth's father was still alive then?" Meiri asked. 

"Kareem has only been dead some thirteen years, Meiri," she said. "I know sometimes it seems as though Ardeth has been First Medjai for the whole of his life, and perhaps in his heart he has, but he is only now in his fourteenth year of leadership." 

"So what happened when his father intervened?" she shivered as she asked the question. 

"I do not know," Ghayda said, "And even now he will not speak of it. It is too painful for him I think. All I know is that he returned to Rida and it was as though they were newly wed once more." 

"If he was so set against taking a second wife," Meiri asked, "Was it something that Kareem said to him that changed his mind? How come the two of you were married?" 

_All her courage flew away in the face of the City before her. She was awed by the fallen pillars; saddened by the once proud statues that now stood listing and broken, like bad teeth in an elderly, once noble man and unnerved by the vague depressions in the sand where there had been movement under the sand, but that wasn't all._

_There was a sense of menace, a hush and stillness that was somehow more pronounced that the usual desert hush, almost oppressive. It was as if all of the Sahara's might were gathered in that once place._

_They said – the warriors of her father's people – that men had died here… horrible deaths, and that the leader of the Lawgivers, guardians of the City and of all the desert, had almost lost his life here in battles with unspeakable horrors._

_She shivered. If this place were too much for the chief of the fierce Medjai then perhaps she, a disobedient little nineteen year old Tuareg girl, dressed in her brother's stolen clothes to hide the truth of her, should leave well alone. She decided her curiosity was satisfied and started to turn. She was stopped by a single click, which sounded very loud and full of threat in the suddenly chilled afternoon._

_"What possible business could a barely grown Tuareg youth have in the City of the Dead?" A voice asked in soft menace._

Meiri watched as Ghayda opened her eyes and paused in telling her story. 

"The first time I heard the sound of his voice I didn't know whether to try and run away or fall down in a dead faint," she laughed, "In the end I didn't do either. I turned around and when I saw he was Medjai, practically wept as I begged for his mercy and revealed the truth of my disobedience. It all just came tumbling out." 

"What did he do?" Meiri asked, enjoying Ghayda's companionship. 

"He laughed," 

"Laughed? 

"Yes," Ghayda smiled. "He laughed at the whole situation and then ordered me up onto his horse to take me back to my father. He said he'd speak to my father to try and get him to show me mercy." 

"Did he?" 

The smile faded from Ghayda's face and she sighed. 

"He didn't get the chance," she said sadly. 

_She stiffened against him, where she sat in the circle of his arms, as they got closer and she spotted the smoke, thick and black, that hung in the air above the camp._

_When she saw the first of the bodies on the ground her heart stopped. She didn't even realise that she was moaning and struggling with the Medjai warrior until he tightened his grip and snapped,_

_"No… hush girl!"_

_He was trying hard to hold her, but in desperation she wriggled so much that she slipped through the oversized robes she had taken from her brother and she fell to the ground._

_The turban, ruined in her struggles fell across her eyes and she ripped it off and threw it to the sand as she came to her knees and started stumbling, and then ran towards the wreckage of her tribal village. She was crying for her mother, and her father, and growing more and more frantic as she saw friend after friend, lifeless bloody heaps on the crimson sand._

"I didn't even think about my own safety," Ghayda said softly, "That whoever had murdered my people might have still been there." 

"Oh God, they weren't…?" 

_"Mama!" she spotted her mother, lying at a most unnatural angle, her legs almost bent double, her arms flung out to either side, the front of her body as red as the sand around her. "Mama!"_

_Strong arms came around her waist and almost lifted her from the ground._

_"There is nothing you can do for her," he said, his voice firm against her struggles. "You cannot help them."_

_She scratched, and kicked as he lifted her feet from the ground._

_"No," she moaned, reaching out her hands toward the dead woman, frantic and hating the man that kept her from reaching her mother. "Mama!"_

"I must have struggled with him for an eternity," Ghayda said, "Eventually I just ran out of strength and went limp. I don't remember very much after that for a while. It was a few days I think, and by then I was back in the village, being cared for by Rida." 

"He brought you home with him?" Meiri frowned in confusion, it was not unusual for survivors from the battles of other tribes to be subsumed by the Medjai, but usually they were cared for communally – or if they were of an age to help support the tribe, as Ghayda obviously was, then they were given their own small dwelling and expected to function as another member of the tribe. 

Ghayda shook her head. "He brought me home to the al-Kharga," she said. "I have no memory of it save what Rida told me, but Ardeth asked Rashid who I was, and where he'd found me – and something about him startled me… and I shrank back into Rashid. The way Rida told the tale she always said, _'she sheltered against him and as the loving man he was he put his arms around the girl and tried to reassure her – forgetting himself, and the wife he had that was standing before him and his First Medjai.'_ She used to tease me a lot about that." 

"And so Ardeth made him…?" 

"No," Ghayda shook her head. "It was Rida, and her wise-woman's ways. She insisted that they look after me and in the face of the fact that I was in no fit state to be on my own, and that Rida had practically – I don't know that ordered it is the right was to put it – but Ardeth and Rashid had no choice but to allow it, no matter what the implications." 

"So you became Rashid's wife by accident then." 

Ghayda laughed. "Oh it was no accident." 

"Rida…" 

She nodded. 

"It took me a while to gather my wits and to stop having nightmares about what had happened," she said. "And all the time, Rida and I got closer and closer, and Rashid… well he cared too, but it was easy to see that he loved Rida so very much, and wouldn't let himself feel more than just that concern, that caring. 

"I on the other hand grew more and more deeply attracted to him. I tried to hide it of course, because I was ashamed of my feelings. I was a guest in their home, and Rida was like my sister. I loved her very much too… then one afternoon, almost a year later, when Rashid was not home she came to me…" 

_"Ghayda…" Rida put a hand in the middle of her back and stopped her from picking up the water skin to go and fill it. "I have some news. Burhan came to me today, this morning, looking for a match for his son, Muntazir."_

_She backed away from the other woman and looked at her in horror. All her dreams shattered in the instant that Rida finished speaking. Another man wanted her… wanted to take her away from her friend and from…_

_"But I don't want to go, Rida" she blurted out the words before she could stop her mouth. "You are my friend; I love you and Rashid, I…"_

_She stopped when Rida held up her hand._

_"Then I shall tell him no," she said, smiling as if it was a matter of no importance they were discussing and did not mention it for the rest of the day._

_Rashid returned late in the afternoon. He was weary, it was easy for her to see that, and Rida glanced at him from where she was cooking and told her to take care of his needs._

_She blinked, as did Rashid as he stood in front of the two women, looking from one to the other. She backed off a step when Rida turned around suddenly from stirring the pot and gave them both a stern look until one of them moved._

_In the end it was Rashid, he held out his hand and said quietly, "Ghayda, please, I am tired and dusty from travel."_

"Well I can honestly say that I have never been so afraid in my whole life as I was in the moment that I took his hand," Ghayda said. "And he led me into the room that he and Rida shared. Of course it was only to help him with his robes, and with washing, but…" 

Meiri laughed with her, and Ghayda smiled gently, smoothing back her hair and taking hold of her hand again. 

"I was so unsure of myself, and I was so in love with him that it was the most difficult – almost painful thing I have ever had to do. I just wanted to hold him, to be held by him, but still didn't think that it was right. I still didn't understand the ways of the world back then." 

She paused and went to get them both some water. Meiri watched the way she moved, gentle and unassuming, as though she were trying to disturb nothing by her presence but knew that the world accepted her completely. She was secure, safe… Meiri sighed. She had felt that once, for a short time at least, when she had first shared her life with Ardeth. 

"He was patient with me," Ghayda returned to her side and handed her the water. "Nervous kitten that I was. He tried to put me at my ease by talking to me, but all it did was make it worse. 

"Then Rida called us out to eat. She waited until we were both settled until she almost choked me with her next comment," she laughed. 

_"Rashid," Rida looked up from the broth she was eating and met his eyes. Ghayda looked away. Even though she knew it had no cause to do, she felt a stab of pain in her heart each time she saw the way that Rida and Rashid looked at each other… each time she saw the love they each had for the other. "It's time this ended. It has been long enough and I will not have scandal in my home."_

_He looked at her taken aback, and Ghayda had to force down the mouth full of food she had just taken. She sat in her place, shaking from head to foot, and stared down and the food on her plate, determined not to look up, but able to feel the touch of his eyes on the top of her head. Did Rida think she was having an affair with her husband?_

_"Rida?" he said quietly. Ghayda heard his bowl rattle on the table as he put it down. She glanced up at his hand, long fingers graced with blue spiked tattoos resting on the table top. "Has someone said something?"_

_"Not yet, Rashid, but they will." Rida answered. "And so I think it is past time that the two of you married."_

_She looked up then – straight at Rida in astonishment. She had been all ready to say something, to defend herself and Rashid if necessary, but had never expected that Rida wanted her to be a second wife to him._

"And so then he asked if that was what I wanted," Ghayda shook her head and smiled again. "What was I supposed to say? It was what I wanted more than anything in the world – to be with him like that, a part of his life… his world… 

"Rida finished her meal and went to inform Ardeth, and then spent the night in the women's tent… and Rashid and I… well we married in the old way. Much as were you and Ardeth." She smiled wistfully. "He was everything I had imagined he would be. He always has been and I love him every bit as much now as I always have." 

"So what…" 

"What happened with Rida was the most horrible thing I think I have ever seen. Both of itself and for what it did to Rashidi." Ghayda shuddered and her eyes filled with tears, so much that Meiri reached out to put a hand onto her arm. 

"Ghayda if it hurts too much – if it is too private…" 

"No," Ghayda said. "I have carried this burden too long on my own. It is good to be able to share it with another. If you don't mind." 

"I don't," she said. "And more than that I think I need to hear it, to understand the visions I see, and how they might all be connected." 

  



	9. Love and Loss

Chapter 9

  
  
  
  


_He'd barely reached the village, and certainly had not completely stopped his horse before he threw himself from the saddle and caught her up by the shoulders._

_"Where are they holding her?" he demanded. "Who made the accusation?"_

_"Erm…" she stuttered, "She… they…"_

_"Ghayda, I'm sorry," he realised he had frightened her in the way he had treated her, "But please tell me."_

_She laid her hands on his chest then, became the composed young woman she had grown to be through the three years of their marriage. He sighed, and looking down as he tried to calm himself._

_"Tell me," he repeated softly._

_"The accusation was made by Hassan," she said, "His uncle supports him…"_

_"Mohammed," Rashid hissed the name. "And with what man?"_

_She pulled back from him as though he had slapped her with his words._

_"You don't BELIEVE them?" she asked, a note of horror in her voice. "Rida would NEVER betray you that way. She loves you more than life, she…"_

_"Ghayda, no!" he reached out to cup her face in his hands. "I don't… I know…and you know I trust her, trust both of you with my life. But something must have happened to give the accusation enough credibility that my warrior brothers would believe…"_

_"Rashid, that doesn't matter," she interrupted, against everything she had ever been taught. "They don't mean to try her at al-Kharga."_

_"What?" he took her arm, suddenly aware that many of the other Medjai were looking at them, prying into their business._

_"I overheard the Elders talking when I tried to go to her."_

_"They are holding her with the Elders?" he frowned._

_"Yes," she answered._

_"Go on."_

_"They mean to take her to Dakhla… to the Tuareg tribe there where the matter might be heard more impartially." She reached for him again. "That's what I heard them say."_

_"This is insanity." He squeezed her hand and then paced a few steps away. "They mean to take her there because they know Ardeth would never support them."_

_"I know," she whispered. "Rashid, please… go to her. She is terrified."_

_He nodded, and then looked back over his shoulder to where the youth was still holding Sur'a, his horse._

_"Ghayda, it is asking much, but I trust no one else in this. Take Sur'a and ride back toward Hamunaptra." He saw her shiver. "Do not worry, Ardeth will find you before you reach the city, that is were we were. Tell him everything. Do not spare him the detail. Tell him I NEED him."_

_"I will do as you ask, my husband," she answered and he pulled her into the shadow of a nearby tent to gently kiss her._

The steamer sounded its horn as a second boat came its way, startling Rashid from the light doze into which the lapping of the water had hypnotised him. He blinked against the sun, and then frowned. Why was he thinking of this? Why were these unwelcome memories coming to him at that time…? 

It had been years… and now the memories surfaced again… at first in dreams, but this was something else. 

"Something troubles you, Rashid?" Tarek walked up and placed a hand onto his shoulder. "You are tired. You should take this chance to rest." 

"I will," he answered. "But not yet." 

"What is it?" 

"I was thinking of Rida," he answered quietly, not able to hide the sorrow that had him in its grip. 

"A sorry business that," Tarek said in sympathy. "It should not have _been_." 

"No," Rashid sighed and turned his gaze back over the lapping waters of the Nile as the memories swept over him anew. He was looking for the reason why. "It should not." 

** 

"By the time he finally got to the Elder's tent, having anticipated what he would do, they had already taken her out of the settlement – secretly… knowing I'd tell him everything." Ghayda said as she fussed around Meiri. 

"And you had his horse, because he'd told you to go to Ardeth." Meiri sighed. 

_"Ghayda, what in the name of Allah are you doing here?" Ardeth offered his hand to help her dismount._

_"Rashid sent me," she answered breathless from the ride. "He said to tell you that he needs you."_

_"Tell me," he said firmly and waved away the other Medjai, to give them privacy for Ghayda to speak freely. "If your husband cannot solve the problem alone it must be serious."_

_"He did not tell you?" she asked, suddenly feeling more than a little shy before her First Medjai._

_Ardeth shook his head and said, "All he told me was that there was an urgent family matter he had to attend to."_

_Ghayda sighed and though knowing it was foolish, she blushed. "Rida has been accused of adultery, First Medjai."_

_"What?" Ardeth took her arm, almost, but not quite roughly, and turned her away from the other assembled Medjai. He startled her with the sudden movement, though she had no time to react as he moved them away a few paces before speaking again. "Did I hear you correctly? Rashid's wife is accused of betraying their marriage?"_

_"Yes sir," she said softly._

_"That's insane," he growled. "Who has made this accusation?"_

_She looked down, speaking softly. In other circumstances she knew full well she could have been severely chastised for speaking out against a warrior of the Medjai, but her husband had bidden her tell Ardeth everything._

_"Hassan, and the Elder, Mohammed." She stepped back as Ardeth sighed crossly, only to have her arm taken again and to find herself drawn closer. "I'm sorry I…"_

_"Tell me exactly what happened – everything you know?"_

_"There is not much I can tell you. I was out early. It was my morning for getting water and such… when I returned to the house it was all over – she had been taken, the accusation made by Hassan." She said fearfully._

_"What man is supposed to have been the object of her betrayal?" Ardeth asked and he looked as though he was trying to stay calm._

_"Abdul-Rahman," she said softly._

"His own son," Ghayda breathed. "Mohammed's I mean. The boy was barely grown enough to wear the sacred marks he had on his body and Mohammed and Hassan were already throwing him to the mercy of the Sahara. Even now I shake my head in amazement that any one man could be so careless with the life of his son – even if it were the youngest of them." 

"What happened?" What did Rashid do?" Meiri asked, shifting uncomfortably and getting up to stretch. 

** 

_"Where is she?" Rashid asked as he stormed into the Elder's tent._

_"Honoured Second…" Mohammed stepped forward to intercept him._

_"Do not!" his hands strayed to the hilts of his swords. "I asked you a question. Where is my wife?"_

_"Not here," Hassan stepped forward. "Given that the Medjai have not known a betrayal like this in living memory, we thought it wisest to move her at once."_

_"What man has DARED lay a hand on my wife?" Rashid reached out and grabbed Hassan by the edges of his robes. "For that is the only way my wife would even LOOK at another man – under duress."_

_"Are you so sure?" Mohammed turned a sickly look his way, and nodded to the warriors Rashid had not even seen in the doorway to the tent. They surrounded him, weapons in hand._

_"I know what this is about, Mohammed," he tossed Hassan almost toward some of the assembled warriors and without fear, approached the other man. "And if you think to win any favour with the other commanders through this… through blatantly attacking a fellow Medjai in the most cowardly way possible… then you are SO mistaken it is almost laughable. Where is she? Dakhla?"_

_"That Tuareg bitch of yours has a big mouth Khalifa!" the Elder spat. "You should teach her to…_

_"My wife is with the First Medjai," Rashid answered. "And believe me it was no coincidence that I sent her to him."_

_"Rashid…" Mohammed reached out a brotherly hand toward him, but Rashid slapped it away._

_"Do not," he repeated advancing on the now retreating man and pushing aside the two scimitars that came to block him from the Elder. "You so much as come near ANY of my family again, worthless animal, and I will destroy you!"_

_"You haven't the power," Mohammed sneered._

_"Haven't I?" Rashid answered. "You wish to try me?"_

_"It would destroy him."_

_"I think not," Rashid said. "Not with what Kareem told me."_

_"He told you NOTHING," the Elder mocked. "And even if he did you would not take the risk…"_

_"As I asked; do you wish to try me?" he answered. "Are you so sure that I would not? Where is she?"_

_"Dakhla, as you already know."_

_"Pray she has not been harmed, Mohammed," he growled. "Pray hard."_

"And yet he still lives," Rashid mused aloud, snapping himself away from the memories. 

"What?" Tarek questioned softly. "Who?" 

"Mohammed," he answered. "After everything he's done; all his scheming; conniving; evil machinations in the twelve tribes… he still lives." 

"He is an Elder," Tarek shrugged as though it explained everything. "No one would raise a hand against an Elder." 

"The time is coming, Tarek," he sighed, "When even that will not keep him safe." 

He sat for a long time staring out over the waters of the Nile on which they were gliding toward Cairo… a place he had hated since Rida's death and the lapse in his honour that had occurred there in its wake. He shuddered. 

"What, my brother?" Tarek asked. 

"Tell me," he began. "Did any of the warriors actually believe the accusations?" 

Tarek sighed, "It was gossip, Rashid. Fit only for women with little better to do. I think there may have been one or two that wondered if there might be _some_ kind of truth in what was being said, but for the most part – we know you, my friend. We had all of us seen the way the two of you were together… and then the three of you." 

"You are not answering my question," Rashid said. 

"So _you_ answer mine… and do not be angered that I ask it. _Was_ there any truth behind the accusation?" 

_"You cannot enter, Medjai," the Tuareg guard called as he approached the tent where he knew they held Rida. "She is accused…"_

_"Move aside or I will cut you down where you stand," he said dangerously. Wisely the man moved out of his way, and he did not even break his stride until he came to a halt inside._

_"Merciful Allah!" he breathed in horror as he saw what they had done to her._

_Her clothes were torn in the unmistakable pattern that a lash would leave across her back. There was a bruise on the side of her face which was streaked with her tears and her hands were tied, cruelly tied with coarse ropes behind her back. She must have been in agony, and was still curled up on her side, into as close to a foetal position as she could manage._

_But worst of all for him, she flinched away as he came close._

_"Rashidi, I did not… I did not…" she wept._

_"Enough of this silly talk, hayati, I know you did not, and would never," he crouched in front of her, gently helping her to sit up before he took a knife from his belt and cut the ropes that tied her wrists. They were chaffed and sore._

_"Rashid," she sobbed and he gladly wrapped her in his arms and held her close. She cried out as he arms circled her back, but would not let him release her. His eyes burned with angry tears, but he had to be strong, to keep his head for her sake._

_"My Rida, listen to me." He eased her out of his arms and cupped her face in his hand. "I have sent for Ardeth, he will be here soon. I know you did not do this thing they say you have done, but if I must I will publicly forgive you for it so that you can return home. Under Medjai law that is enough."_

_"They do not mean to try me under Medjai law," she sniffed, obviously trying to calm herself, but failing._

_"Then I will make them," he whispered, and leaned down to gently capture her lips in a patient and tender kiss._

_"Who did this to you?" he asked, indicating her bruise and the lash marks on her back._

_"Hassan," she breathed. "I tried to escape him, to come to you, but he grabbed me and I hit him. They did this for my striking a Medjai warrior."_

_"Turn around," he said quietly._

_"No," she moaned, obviously afraid to show him the extent of her pain._

_"I said, turn around," he repeated firmly. He used her shoulders to turn her, and breathed in sharply at the mess they had made of her back. Many open red slash marks lined her back from side to side, not yet even closed over. "I will not permit this…"_

_"Rashidi, please," she whispered. "You cannot…"_

_"Cannot what?" he snapped. "Protect my wife? I'll be damned before I let them get away with this!"_

_She turned to face him and brought a hand that trembled to his face. He almost automatically turned his face to kiss the hand and then cradled it against his cheek. His eyes filled with tears as the magnitude of what was happening descended on them both. His gaze travelled every inch of her frightened face, even bruised and so clearly afraid, and filthy with her tears she was exquisitely beautiful._

_"Hard though it is, my love, I need you to tell me all that has happened, but first," he carefully got to his feet and started toward the door, "I will see to your wounds."_

_When he got to the door and requested water and supplies for attending to Rida's injuries and fresh clothes for her to wear, his demands were met without question. In a strange kind of way it left him feeling frustrated. He was angry and needed some way to express that, to clear his head of the bright mist of rage that was settling over him, beneath the very real fear he had that he was going to lose her and they denied him that by acquiescing to his needs._

_"Tell me," he said softly, settling before her and taking her hands in his to tend to her wrists._

_"It was this morning. He was there when I woke… I don't know how. He must have waited until Ghayda left to fetch the water for the day and then came inside." She began crying again, and he tenderly wiped away her tears._

_"It is all right, Rida," he told her. "I am not angry with you. I will not BECOME angry with you… but I do need to know. When you say he was there, tell me who, and where exactly?"_

_"In your place," she barely breathed and looked away, her face blushing with shame._

_Everything inside him knotted at once and a huge hole opened up in his gut – opened by the touch of another man's hand. He almost couldn't find the strength to breathe, as though everything that he was had drained out of him at her admission of those three words. The next breath he took was painful, left him with an ache in the centre of his heart._

_"Did he touch you?" he asked, one more word than she had used, one more knife through the heart._

_"He tried." The sobs made the two words like a whine._

_"Who was he?" Rashid demanded, deliberately phrasing the question in the past tense as all the emotion swirling around in him grabbed hold of him and broke his self restraint. He was going to kill whoever it was… slowly._

_"Rashid…"_

_"Tell me," he shook her slightly trying to force the name to rattle out of her, so that he might know what man had dared to defile the woman he loved in that way._

_It just made her sob harder and something in that drained the notion of retribution away again; left him weakened, trembling as he eased her into his arms and cradled her head against his chest._

_"Enough," he whispered and rocked her gently from side to side._

_"I woke to find him there," she wept into his chest, "Holding me… half asleep I thought for a moment that you had come home in the night and… But then he did what you would never have done and… and… and,"_

_"Hush, Rida," he stopped her, knowing that if she told him the anger would return. "You do not need to say more. He betrayed his Oaths. That is all I need to hear of that matter."_

_"Rashid, I love you so much… I was so afraid…"_

_"What? That I would believe the lies?" he asked softly, once more turning her face up to his. He saw the fear in her eyes, still there… "Rida, hayati, no… I know, from my heart that you would not… and I love you too."_   
_Softly, he kissed away her tears, feeling her trembling subsiding a little under his touch, and he took the time to bathe the wounds on her back. They were nasty, ragged and sharp… leaving her crying out with pain even through his gentleness. It was almost more than he could bear._

_"When did Hassan make the accusation?" he asked when he had her dressed in the clean clothes she had been given and she lay, exhausted in his arms._

_"Almost before I was out of his clutches. Hassan was there…"_

_"Set up," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Who was it, my heart?"_

_"It was… Abdul-Rahman."_

_"Thank you," he whispered, sighing. Then he just wrapped his arms around her, and held her close._

** 

Ghayda watched as Meirionnydd got up carefully and walked toward the door. She turned her head to see that the children were playing safely together before she followed her. 

"But if Rashid had sent for Ardeth," Meiri said as Ghayda came to her side, both of them looking out over the desert from the rocky rise that housed the caves. "And if he was with her, how did it come to what I've seen in my vision?" 

"You would have thought between them they would have been able to stop it from happening wouldn't you?" she asked. "But the truth of the matter is that we all underestimated Mohammed." 

"In what way?" Meiri asked, leaning her head against the cool rock wall. 

"Meiri?" Ghayda didn't answer, rather looking at her friend, and not liking what she saw, she asked, "Are you all right? Perhaps we should go back inside, rest a little more." 

"I'm all right, Ghayda, please don't fuss." She said. 

"You look…" 

"I'm all right," Meiri repeated. "It just all seems so stupid – I mean… what on Earth does Mohammed have against Rashid that he had to do that?" 

Ghayda looked hard at Meiri, right into her eyes, risking that the prescient woman might see more than just the simple truth that Mohammed was a power hungry, selfish individual, to the truth behind his long running hatred of both Rashid and Ardeth. She saw Meiri shiver and looked away. 

"So what happened?" Meiri asked. 

_The Medjai horses thundered into the settlement, Ardeth already calling out to be told the whereabouts of Rashid as he pulled his horse to a halt. Beside him, still holding tightly to the horse she rode, Ghayda straightened up and pressed her hand against the ache in her belly._

_It was a risk she took… riding so hard in her current state… but she had to be with her husband. She had to be there to support him and they were already dangerously late._

_When they had arrived in al-Kharga, it was to find everyone connected with the matter had already left for Dhakla. All except Abdul-Rahman… who was all but cowering in his uncle's tent._

_Ardeth had dragged him from it, and forced him onto the back of a horse to answer for his own part in the matter, before they rode on to the Tuareg settlement where it was being dealt with._

_"He is with his wife, First Medjai," the leader of the Tuareg answered. "Making his peace with her."_

_"What do you mean?" Out of the corner of her eye as she slid to the ground, holding onto the horse for support, Ghayda saw Ardeth's hand stray close to the hilt of his scimitar._

_"The matter was decided by our council some time ago. The woman is guilty and will suffer the consequences."_

_It was all she could do to keep her feet and either side of her, two of Ardeth's Chosen Warriors caught her by the arms to hold her up. It would destroy Rashid to lose Rida to that… barbaric practise that had long since been outlawed by the Medjai._

_"I will not allow it." Ardeth snapped, "The woman is Medjai and therefore the matter falls to me to deal with as I see fit. Besides which, your council have not heard all of the evidence in the matter. This man, this YOUTH, bears the truth of it."_

_"I am sorry, Ardeth Bay, I truly am, but the matter is decided. Your Elders brought the crime to be tried before mine because they feared you could not be impartial…"_

_"And your Elders have not heard the whole of the truth." He reached behind him and grabbed the young Medjai from his Tarek, who served as his guard, by the fabric of the back of his robes. Ghayda almost felt sorry for the lad… almost._

_"Here is the truth of it. That this not quite innocent pawn has been used in a play for power among the…"_

_"Medjai politics does not concern us, my friend. All we see is the truth of a faithless woman who cannot wait for the return of her husband to fulfil her…"_

_"Not TRUE!" she could not have contained the words even if she had wanted, even though it was wrong for a woman to speak out against a man._

_"Ghayda," Ardeth warned, and the two men supporting her, tightened their hands around her arms, pulling her back sharply. "Let me deal with this."_

_"Who is the woman?" The Tuareg chief nodded toward her._

_"She is also the wife of my Honoured Second." Ardeth answered smoothly. "She has been with Rashid and his first wife for three years. She knows well enough what sort of relationship they have."_

_"But she is a woman…" the Tuareg shrugged and dismissed her. Ghayda's heart sank._

_"Whose word, among the Medjai, has as much credence as that of a man," she could hear that Ardeth's patience was running out._

_"But the woman was not tried among the Medjai." As was the Tuareg chief's. "She was tried under out laws and the laws of Islam. She will be punished for her infidelity."_

_Suddenly the small group of Medjai found themselves surrounded by armed Tuareg warriors all looking impatient and as though they were itching to use their weapons._

_It was then that Ghayda spotted Rashid, emerging from a tent to the side of the village. She could tell by the expression on his face that he knew – as did she – that short of beginning a war over the life of one woman, there was nothing Ardeth could do to save his wife._

_She saw Rashid finger the rifle he wore slung across his body, and knew that he would do everything that he could to at least save Rida from the pain, he would take her life quickly if there was no way he could save her._

** 

Cairo… il-quahira… 

Bustling city, home to far too many, full of visitors, careless of where their feet might tread and what they might disturb. Cesspool, hovel… den of vice… 

The steamer pulled in to the quay and drew a heavy sigh from Rashid. In the last five years he had avoided entering the city at all costs… even at the risk of disobeying Ardeth's command. And yet here he was… once more entering the city. And this time he knew what he must do. 

It would not be easy – but his honour demanded it. 

"Rashid?" Tarek looked across at him, from where he stood with the horses as he stopped at the edge of the walkway. 

"Go and meet with O'Connell," he said. "There is something I must do. I will be with you before night falls." 

"As you wish." Tarek nodded respectfully and Rashid was relieved that he did not ask him what he was about. "Should I take your horse?" 

"If you would, my friend," he said. 

"Be careful, Rashid." Tarek mounted his horse and lead Rashid's as he went in the direction of the hotels that marked out the foreigner's quarters of the city. Rashid set his steps in the opposite direction, though the person he sought was no less a stranger to Egypt as the next Englishman, or English woman. He sighed. 

He found the building he was looking for quite easily, remembering the look of the whitewashed walls with a clarity that left him shivering as though he were suddenly cold. Taking a deep breath he mounted the dirty steps and pushed open the door, ignoring the many frightened stares he could feel landing on the back of his neck. Shrugging them off, as they were something that a Medjai warrior got used to if he travelled outside of his usual territory. 

"May I help you?" A man came to intercept him. He stopped, though he could have just kept walking. 

"I am looking for Aria. She used to work here, and I wonder if she still does," he answered. 

"And you are?" 

"An old friend," he answered softly, almost hesitant. "My name is Rashid Khalifa." 

The man held up his hand to stop him from saying anything more and from the look on his face Rashid surmised that the man had at least heard the name before. He was content therefore to remain in the lobby when asked to do so, looking around at the flaking walls, still covered with layer upon layer of whitewash instead of being properly repaired. 

"Mister Khalifa?" the man returned quickly. "Please follow me." 

The smaller man led him in through the hostel, where people lay in low beds, sleeping or resting. He shook his head, even though it was better than them sleeping in the open, on the streets as they had been, it was little better than nothing. He sighed, where were the families of these people? 

She was standing in the room beyond, her back to the door. The dark veil she had fixed over her hair, and no doubt her face, hid her long, light brown hair from view, but he knew its colour none the less. 

He thanked the man with a silent nod, and felt him leave his side. This was not a meeting to be witnessed. Momentarily lost for words, awkward for perhaps the first time he could ever recall he just stood, staring at her back. In her dark blue dress, with the veil covering her hair, she almost reminded him of the Christian devotees, who pledged themselves to their god over men… nuns he thought they were called. His eyes closed in a long blink. He knew otherwise. 

"I wondered if you would ever come back," she said. Her melodic voice was barely above a whisper thought she might have been shouting. "How is your wife? And your family… children? You must have children by now." 

"I have," he said hesitantly. "A daughter, Nabilah. She and her mother are well." 

The space between them in the room could not have been more than perhaps ten feet and yet it felt to him more that ten miles. 

"Aria…" he began. 

"And you… Rashid… how are you?" she interrupted, and he thought he saw her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. She still did not turn to face him. 

"Turn around, Aria," he requested. Her head moved from side to side, telling him no, and she took a step away as he began to move into the room. It stopped him. 

"Did you expect to return after five years and find everything the same?" she questioned, sounding upset. "Or you thought, perhaps hoped, that I would move on… forget you?" 

She leaned both hands against the table at the far end of the room. Her hands made small white fists against the dark wooden surface. He remembered those hands… how soft… how easily they had soothed him, fevered from the sun as he was when someone had dumped him on the steps of the refuge. 

"I hoped to find you well," he said slowly, moving forward again. "To ask if there is anything you need." 

As he reached her, she turned, pressing her back against the table as thought to put some distance between them. Her grey eyes were soft, as he remembered them, and rimmed with tears, just as the last time he had looked into them – when he had left to return to his people. _Then nothing had changed… why?_

He frowned. 

"I would have thought…" he said softly, reaching for her. 

"You are not the kind of man that a woman just forgets," she raised her arms to try and fend off his touch and when she could not, when his hands pressed, one against her upper arm and the other moved to unclip the veil at the side of her head she shook her head again, closing her eyes almost, he thought, in a moment of desperation. Her raised hands fell against the centre of his chest. 

"Rashid, la!" she whispered as the fabric fell away from her face that was wet with tears. "Five years and not a word, and now you return and expect everything to be as it was, I… can't!" 

"Then why the tears?" he asked. He cupped her chin in his hand, bringing her eyes up to meet with his again. 

"Don't…" she breathed, pushing hard against his chest, "You ask if there is anything I need… You cannot give me what I need." 

Her obvious desperation lent her the strength to push him away enough that she could squeeze past just as he would have wiped away the tears, just as he would have spoken the words that had been his intention to speak all thought the meeting… if such had been her wish. He caught her arm, pulling her to a halt and half turned. 

"Perhaps I can," he said firmly, but not unkind. "That is why I returned, Anisahi." 

"How can you," she whispered tearfully. "You still have your Medjai oaths… you have a wife and family… how…?" 

"Mama!" 

The child's shout from the doorway instantly drew his attention away from Aria and he turned his head to look at the boy. The lengthy, curly, raven locks and brown button eyes that met his fearfully, but resolutely made him tighten his grip on the woman's arm in shock… 

"Allah…" he breathed. _His child… his son._

"Let me go," she sobbed, pulling on her arm. 

He released her and child and mother flew toward each other to meet in the centre of the room. She sank to her knees and wrapped herself around the boy who pressed himself against her, his little arms around her neck. 

"Leave us," he commanded the women who had been caring for the boy. He spoke as firmly as his reeling thoughts and emotions would allow, fighting to control he breathing. She obeyed, with a slight bow. 

"Why did you not…?" he trembled as he spoke, a legion of thoughts all fighting for attention in his head, his heart swinging between extreme admiration for her strength and almost terrifying anger at what he perceived as a betrayal. "I _told_ you how you might contact me if you needed…" 

"You _left_!" she raised her head and virtually screamed the words at him, stroking the child's hair and soothing him when he moaned in fear. "It's all right, Husayn… it's all right." 

Chastised by her accusation… knowing it to be true, and the source of his shame, his anger dissipated. The lapse in his honour, as Ghayda had rightly told him when he confessed his wrong doing to her, had not been in surrendering to his feelings at a time when he was not entirely himself, but in leaving the woman that loved him, and to whom he had given himself, when he was. 

Sighing he came to kneel close by the two of them. 

"Forgive me, Aria," he whispered. 

"Where is the point?" she shook her head. "When there is nothing to forgive. By the time I discovered I was pregnant, the desert was trembling under the threat of the Army of Anubis. I didn't want that for Husayn." 

She looked at him then… weeping openly, huge tears that fell like raindrops from the silver grey clouds of her eyes. 

"So I chose not to tell you," she pulled a yellowed piece of paper from a pocket in her dress and handed it to him. "Even though the decision tore me in two." 

He looked down at the paper, and the short message written in careful Arabic script. _Rashid, I need your help. I am with child. A._

"Return with me," he said. "It is why I came… to ask that of you." 

"I can't," she shook her head and cried harder, until he could not stand to see her heart breaking as it was and in spite of her protests, moved to gather her against him, the child nestled between them. 

"Hush now, Aria," he murmured. "Of course you can." 

Again she shook her head. It was an uncomfortable feeling, her refusing to be with him, to let him care for her, and for their child. He felt suddenly cut adrift. 

"Look at me, Rashid," she said quickly. "Your people would never accept me… and even if they did, who would care for the people here?" 

"The Lost here will find someone to care for them, Aria," he said. "My fear is that you risk becoming one of them." 

"I will not leave them, Rashid," she raised her head to look at him, "I am all they have." 

"Sir, are you my father?" Husayn asked quietly in perfect Arabic, his brown eyes hopeful. Rashid looked questioningly at Aria. She pressed her hands to her mouth to stop from sobbing aloud again, nodding her permission. 

"Yes, my son, I am," he answered, his voice thick with emotion. Then looking once more at Aria he asked, "You had him taught Arabic?" 

"How could I not," Aria fought to make the words come from her lips, "He speaks better Arabic than he does English." 

"And will you stay with us now?" the child asked. 

"I cannot." They were the hardest words that he had ever had to speak, and suddenly he understood the gaping, searing ache that he had sensed in Aria even as she denied him. "My duty calls me away…" 

He felt his heart would collapse in on itself in the next moment, and he could not draw breath as he saw the child's eyes fill with tears. 

"Aria, come home!" he gasped as though it hurt him to speak. 

"No," she whispered, her breathing erratic and much as it devastated him to hear her reject him a third time, he had to admire her fortitude, her courage. In a sudden flush of warmth, he reached out and cupped the back of her neck with his hand, drawing her forward until he could capture her lips beneath his. 

At first she pushed against his chest, fighting, but then she shook once, as a sob passed through her, and her fingers grasped the edges of his robe. Her lips parted and she accepted and returned his kiss. 

"Please, Rashid, just go…" she gasped as they broke apart, still grasping the front of his robes. 

"Will you come to visit then?" Husayn asked, completely innocent as to what was going on between his mother and father. 

"I shall visit often," he promised and held his son as the boy threw a fierce hug around his shoulders. He kissed the boy's brow as he let go. "May Allah keep you safe, my son." 

Briefly caressing the side of Aria's face he started to rise, and fixed her with an uncompromising stare. 

"This is not finished," he said firmly and then left, barely seeing where he was going for the water that burned in his eyes, caught between the past and the sudden harsh reality of the present. 

** 

"Meiri, come and sit down," Ghayda tried again to get through to her, she heard the voice, felt the hand on her arm, but locked as she was in the vision that had come on her suddenly, she couldn't move, she could barely breathe… 

_Outside of it all, like a spectral observer, she watched horrified as they dragged Rida out of the tent, out of his arms, even as he protested._

_"She is forgiven!" he cried, "You cannot DO this!"_

_"RASHID!" he reached for him, trying to get back to the safety of his arms._

_"Faithless whore!" the angry mob surrounded her, tearing her clothes still further. "Couldn't bear to be without a man, so took another woman's husband!"_

_"No!" she turned her eyes through the mob to find his… to find the man she loved… "Rashid, they lie… it isn't true. I love you. I love YOU!"_

_"Rida…" his voice was broken and hollow…_

_Meiri felt their emotions, the terror, the loss… the anger and pain… she wanted to tear it all from her heart, overwhelming as it was… she pulled at the front of the robe she wore. *Take it from me, please! Take away this sight… I do not want it any more!* She cried out in silence._

_They drove him back… threatened him with their many rifles, until… banned from return, like the rest of his Medjai brothers, he was forced to wait, and watch from the rise of a nearby dune._

_"How could this happen?" Meiri cried. "What force was behind this!"_

_The sun began to set behind his silhouette, his head downward, she felt him unable to watch as the first of the large stones struck his wife._

_Meiri cried out in disbelief as Rida did in pain, almost as if she shared the woman's emotion. She moved, trying to somehow protect the woman with her body as stone after stone struck her._

_"Stop it!" Even though she knew she could not interact with the vision still she tried holding up her hands to implore the gathered masses, men and women both, to stop. They ignored her, heaving more and even more jagged rocks Rida's way._

_Rida screamed as a rock his her temple, and blood began to seep from the deep cut on the side of her head. Until then she had been able to hold her pain inside, but now, with each blow, sharp and dull alike she cried out… tears falling from her eyes to mingle with the blood on her face._

_Sickened, Meiri turned away, screaming her own disbelief at the heavens._

** 

"No!" Meiri's scream startled Ghayda, who had until then been standing beside her offering what comfort she could. 

"Enough, Meirionnydd!" Ghayda tried to prize her away from the rock doorway, failing entirely. She started to panic herself when Meiri's breathing became erratic, uncontrolled. "Stop… you will harm yourself!" 

** 

_A sickening spiral of sand erupted around her until she found herself standing beside Rashid._

_"Asma'i forgive me…" he whispered against the sleeve of his desert robe. Moving slowly, purposefully he loaded the rifle, cocked it and brought it to his shoulder, raising his eyes on the grizzly scene for the first time._

_"Ma'as-salaama, habibti," he squeezed the trigger._

_She felt the sickening travelling sensation again that placed her back beside Rida. The gunshot rang out, startling some of those still attacking Rida with stones, but as she turned toward Rida, she did not fall as Meiri expected._

_"Dear god, he missed…" she breathed, horrified._

_More and more stones fell, only pausing when a man came forward to lay a hand to Rida's neck. He nodded and the mob cheered. Rida was dead._

_No longer held back by restraining armed warriors, the Medjai thundered into the settlement, forming a protective circle around her body until Rashid could come to her side._

_Meiri turned away as he gathered Rida's broken body into his arms and made the most awful sound imaginable as he voice his grief… and she knew, it was both for her loss, and at having missed with the shot meant to save her from pain._

_Her eyes found Ghayda's in among the Medjai, whose tears were spilling freely over her face as she went into the ring of Medjai to wrap herself in comfort around her husband and the woman that had been a sister to her. She let the sounds of her grief match his._

_Meiri's heart knotted with a matching emotion. *So pointless…*_

_"Why!" she yelled at the sky._

_As though the sound had disturbed his grief, Rashid's head snapped up. His face was streaked with tears, but his eyes searched among the crowd until he found the man he sought._

_He stood and began to walk out of the circle. Ardeth stopped him, pressing his hand into the centre of his chest._

_"She will be buried with honour, Rashid, for we all know the truth of this." Ardeth said, but Rashid pushed him aside and continued toward the man, who by now had realised that the enraged Medjai was bearing down on him and was trying to back away._

_"Abdul-Rahman!" Rashid's voice rang out harsh and hoarse with grief. "Would you prove yourself more cowardly by running? Stand and face me, worthless dog!"_

_He grabbed the youngster and dragged him into the centre of the clear space, slapping him backhanded across the face before the youth had a chance to regain his balance. Then he grasped the back of his robe, and virtually dragged him toward the murdered Rida. The young warrior's strength failed him and he fell to his knees, but was still dragged into the blood and tattered clothes that once had been a beautiful and kind young woman._

_Reeling from sensation, from the hundreds of emotions, hardly any of them hers, that were coursing though her, Meiri too fell to her knees…_

_"You did this!" Rashid accused. "Faithless, weak little man!"_

_With a strength beyond his own Rashid tossed him away from Rida into the space between the Medjai and the Tuareg witnesses. The man-boy lay winded on the ground as Rashid bore down on his, his scimitar now in his hand._

_"Rashid, no!" Meiri cried out, reaching for him, even as Ardeth did and said exactly the same, taking Rashid's wrist in his hand._

_"This is not the way," he said, but Rashid shook him off._

_"What were your oaths, boy?" he demanded, grabbing the sash that tied Abdul-Rahman's Medjai robes closed he sliced them through with his blade and tossed the ruined fabric aside._

_"Honoured second I…"_

_"Repeat them to me now!" Rashid yelled._

_"I… um…"_

_"You cannot," Rashid accused_

_"I can, I…"_

_"Then do it!"_

_"As sworn Medjai, a Warrior for God," the boy began hesitantly. "I make these sacred oaths before Allah and before my people… That as my forefathers have done since the time before the Pharaohs, I give my life to the protection of the Voice of the Law – and shall strive to uphold that law in the desert…"_

_"And yet you break the law in laying hand upon another man's wife!" Rashid said harshly._

_"That as my ancestors have done since the time of Seti the first, I shall guard Hamunaptra – the City of the Dead – against trespass that may seek to remove the wealth of Egypt from it's rightful place and might unwittingly disturb the unrest of "He-That Shall-Not-Be-Named" and with my life, protect all Egypt against the threat of the Curse of Hom-Dai."_

_"Continue," Rashid instructed when the boy looked up at him, confused._

_"That I give my life in service to those of my people, holding the Honour of the Medjai as my own; I shall protect and cherish my Brother Warriors and their sons, and the wives and daughters of my people…"_

_"Did you actions protect and cherish my wife?"_

_"Honoure…"_

_"Did they!" Rashid picked him up by the scruff of the neck so that he could once against see Rida's bloodied body._

_"No," the boy cried out, terrified, his eyes wild._

_"And did you not also swear on your life to use your strength and honour as a Medjai warrior to defend those weaker than yourself, and those in need?"_

_"I did, I did…" the young warrior sobbed and fell to his knees, grasping the front of Rashid's robes, "Please, Honoured Second, I have wronged you… forgive me…"_

_He turned an imploring gaze Ardeth's way as he continued._

_"First Medjai, please…"_

_"You are an Oath breaker, Abdul-Rahman." Ardeth answered sternly. "What am I to do?"_

_Meiri watched as Ghayda rose from where she still knelt by Rida. She came to Rashid's side and laid her hand against his chest. As though she and Ghayda were one in that moment Meiri felt the frantic beating of his heart against her fingertips, or perhaps it was her own heart, since her hand was pressed against her chest._

_"He has a wife that needs him Rashid," she said softly. "SHE needs your mercy if not he. Look to your own vows husband, please."_

_She cradled his head against her shoulder when he lowered it there. Meiri knew, somehow that it had been the next few moments that had somehow broken him more than any other._

_"Abdul-Rahman," Ardeth began. "You have until…"_

_"Ardeth wait," Rashid interrupted him. "Banishing the boy will not help… but harm. He needs a stronger example to follow than his weakling… coward of a father that has thrown him at our mercy when he believed there would be none…"_

_"What do you mean?" Ardeth asked._

_"If you banish Abdul, you only give Mohammed what he wants… rid of a son he sees as lacking in some way." Rashid paused, swallowing back tears as he cupped Ghayda's cheek briefly in his still bloodstained hand. He took several deep breaths before speaking again. "I claim that Mohammed is an unfit father and example to this young Medjai before me and as is my sworn duty as Honoured Second and as a fellow Medjai warrior to the boy, until such time that my wife delivers to me a son of my blood, I name this man, Abdul-Rahman… as my son and heir."_

The shock of the words hit Meiri hard and threw her out of the vision, to look in astonishment at Ghayda – the woman that had prompted her husband's mercy. 

"Did he allow it?" she gasped, for some reason breathless and panicked. 

"What?" Ghayda asked, stroking her back in concern. 

"Rashid… Ardeth… Abdul-Rah…" The pain caught her totally off guard, worse than ever before, as though someone had impaled her on a long barbed knife. She cried out and clutched her belly. "Ghayda, no! Please… God, help me!" 

She fell forward onto her hands and knees and felt the blood that fell from her to the dusty stone floor of the cavern. She cried out again and wrapped her arms around herself – seeing even as the fear grasped her… 

_Faceless white figures moved through the spaces around the woman who lay in the pangs of childbirth on the small bed. She could not see the face, and could not lean up for the pain in her own belly as real and intense as those that had the woman crying out…_

_"Oh God, no!" the voice was afraid, light, high and familiar. She moaned in denial, blood spreading over the light linen beneath her, spilling onto the floor to pool around Meiri in a way she had known and was horribly familiar…_

"Ghayda, no…." she breathed. "I can't lose this child… I can't…" 


	10. Forgiveness

Chapter 10

  


"Look, all I'm saying is that you need to let him wake up," Rick paced the room, irritated at the obstructive attitude that the woman, the psychologist that had been caring for his brother-in-law for the past several days, was still showing. "We have to go." 

"O'Connell, Jonathan isn't fit to go anywhere," she snapped. "Perhaps you don't understand what I've been telling you." 

"No," he turned to face her and pointed a finger in her direction. "Perhaps you don't understand what _I've_ been telling you. What I know Jonathan has told you and what my son has been trying…" 

"I understand precisely that this man has been through some kind of dreadful trauma…" 

"Which you still don't believe…" 

"I can't _help_ that, O'Connell." She stood up from the side of the bed and paced away from him. "Mummies do not come to life… dead people stay dead and…" 

"You are wrong." The new voice made both of them jump and Rick spun around his hand reaching for his weapon. 

"Whoa!" Alex said softly, looking at the imposing figure that entered by way of the balcony. 

"Tarek?" Rick relaxed a little as the Medjai warrior pulled down the covering from his face. 

"O'Connell," Tarek said with a polite and respectful nod of confirmation. "The Medjai are truly sorry for you loss." 

"Thanks," Rick answered, touched that Tarek had spoken the simple sentiment, speaking of his daughter as he did. "Where's Ardeth?" 

"Ardeth has asked that Rashid and I guide you to our settlement where he will meet with you." Tarek answered, and without invitation crossed the room to check on the sleeping Jonathan. "What is wrong?" 

"I really don't think he should be discussing my patient," Jenny said, trying to put herself between Jonathan and the Medjai. The warrior simply moved her aside, and Rick had to hide a smile when he repeated the question over her head. 

"He's sick," Rick said, the concern in his voice spilling out into his voice. "Her um… he nearly had an accident with his… 

"Accident, ha!" Jennifer spat, and this time moved the warrior with sheer persistence, away from Jonathan. "He tried to kill himself." 

Tarek looked shocked for just a moment and then leaned down closer to Jonathan. 

"You have drugged him." He addressed the woman, and Rick saw his eyes narrow in disapproval. 

"Part of the problem is that he has not been sleeping well," she countered, though she backed up a step away from the Medjai warrior. "All I did was give him something to help him sleep." 

"And now he must wake, for we must be ready to leave by nightfall. The journey is long and the First Medjai is anxious to meet with his friends." Tarek told her with great authority in his voice. 

"Look, Mister…" 

"I am Tarek Mahmed Ghani." He bowed politely as he introduced himself. "Chosen Warrior and of First Tribe." 

"Yes, well… Mister Ghani." Rick smiled at the expression on her face. She was clearly trying to be firm with him. "My name is Doctor Jennifer Hamlyn. I'm caring for Jonathan and I'm telling _you_ as I told his brother-in-law; that he's not fit to travel. He needs rests and time to talk about the things that are bothering him and…" 

Her voice broke off with a small squeak as Tarek stepped forward and caught her by the shoulders to virtually carry her to a nearby chair. Rick almost moved forward to intercede… feeling almost sorry for the woman then, but when Tarek pulled up a footstool and sat in front of her, he relaxed a little. 

"Doctor Hamlyn, listen to me very carefully," the Medjai began. "Egypt is a land with a rich and turbulent past. There are Old gods and Old magic that still lives beneath the desert sand. Whether or not you believe that a three thousand year old curse can bring the dead to walk; that Old gods can possess a man's heart so that he forgets himself or that an artefacts, as old as the sands of the Sahara can return life is a matter between you and your conscience." 

The Medjai paused and looked back at the still sleeping Jonathan and Rick saw the sadness in his eyes. He shook his head and then turned his gaze once more toward Jenny. 

"But I can tell you without a doubt that these things are real and they happened. The curse of Hom Dai is the reason the Medjai still exist as they do and have not, as have other tribes, been subsumed into the mix that is Egyptian society. For that I am glad, for Egypt still has need of us, although Hom Dai has been as much our curse as it was Imhotep's." He paused, once more looking at Jonathan and then at Rick and Alex standing nearby. "The man you say you care for believes these things, has lived through these thing, a number of times. If you truly want to help him you will not devalue what he believes. You must let him wake, for he needs to be with us." 

"If he's going anywhere, then I'm coming too," she said firmly. 

"That is your choice. Though I tell you, the ride will be long and uncomfortable for a woman. We cannot slow our pace to suit you." 

"I can keep up," Jenny raised her head defiantly. 

"Well then, I suggest you go and gather your things. When Rashid arrives we will be leaving." Tarek said, with a hint of amusements in his voice. 

Rick returned her sarcastic smile as she passed him, heading toward the door to do as Tarek had suggested. 

"And Doctor," Tarek's voice made her pause, her hand on the handle of the door. Rick too, turned to look at the Medjai who had once more risen to his feet. "No more Laudanum. Jonathan must learn to survive this." 

A look passed between the two of them that made a flush of chill run through Rick. Their understanding would be an uneasy one at best, he realised as he saw the look. He sighed. What was it about headstrong women and Egypt that always caused trouble? 

** 

Even after she had washed Miranda still felt filthy. She cast another contemptuous look at Annaniah, who had given her to the man in payment for him bringing the priest and the chest to him. 

Silas was now little more than a withered husk that had renewed the one that now stood before them, eyeing them in a mix of threat and curiosity. He was tall – not a hair graced his body, dressed only in the brief scrap of cloth that guarded his modesty. 

His eyes swept over her again and she saw dismissal. She could almost hear his thoughts, his opinion of her… _whore…_ and she resented that he thought of her in that way. The more time that passed she realised just how much they were using her, Annaniah and the child Goddess, Nebkhat. But even this little power was like a drug to her… and she could not give it up. 

"You have sought me out … returned me to life… and given me the power to return to this form," he said. His voice, speaking the Ancient Tongue, held authority and sent a shiver through Miranda's body. "Why?" 

"There are many reasons, my Lord Imhotep," Annaniah purred, but Imhotep's eyes dismissed him also, settling onto the child… the girl. He felt her as she truly was, possessed of the gods. 

"Nebkhat," he greeted her, confirming Miranda's thoughts. "An interesting vessel you choose to lead your campaign, and surely a dangerous ally." 

"Not so, Imhotep," the adult, sensual voice from the child's body made a rush of nausea flood Miranda as she watched the girl stalk toward the Priest, who turned to keep her in his sight. "We know you, my lord. You crave the power we can give you, or you would not have waited to hear our explanation." 

"Perhaps I did not," he said slowly. "Power I have. You can offer me very little as a matter of fact, my young Goddess." 

"Balance… retribution…" she sighed and stepped closer to him. "I can not only offer, but I can give you the power to become more than you could possibly dream, Priest." 

"In servitude to another authority… another God?" he questioned. "I do not think so." 

"Poor Imhotep," she pouted at him mockingly. "Always so used. Seti… Anck-Su-Namun, O'Connell… have you even known what it is to be free?" 

"I am cursed – there can be no freedom." His answer came harshly. 

"Perhaps there can…" she whispered. "In Suti…" 

Raising his arms slightly, Imhotep lifted the girl to his height so that their eyes might meet. Miranda shivered again at the sibilant quality in his voice when next he spoke to the girl. 

"But I remain… my sweet child-wife…" 

** 

Ghayda stroked her fingers softly through Meirionnydd's hair. The herbs she had given to Meiri had made her sleep through the night and into the new day. A day of hope, for the light bleeding had stopped, and there was no sign that Meiri had lost the child. 

Perhaps it still lived, only time would tell for sure. 

"Ghayda?" Meiri's voice still sounded sleepy and emotional. 

"I'm here, my sweet one," she smiled down at her friend. "Stay resting there. The bleeding has stopped, though I do not know what that might mean. Is there any more pain?" 

"What happened afterward?" Meiri asked quietly, shaking her head to answer the question. 

"You lost consciousness," Ghayda told her. "I brought you back to bed, when you woke I gave you some herbs and then you slept again." 

"No," Meiri shook her head. "I mean after Rida died. You said it was bad… for Rashid, but – you'll forgive me I hope for saying so – it seems to me that he acted incredibly strongly…" 

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Ghayda sighed softly, and gently caressed Meiri's face. "If you promise to stay in that bed I will tell you… though this is harder for me too." 

"If you do not want…" 

"I have said I would." She pushed against the other woman's shoulder. "Now lie still." 

She waited until Meiri had settled back against the pillows and was breathing softly, slowly, until she sensed the other woman was truly resting, before she took up the tale. 

"After he had named Abdul-Rahman as his son it was almost as though the cloud of grief that his words had been holding back settled over him. He hardly said another word as we returned to Al-Kharga," she paused to sigh as the memory swept through her. "He just held me tightly, almost desperately in front of him on his horse." 

_"What is this?" Mohammed asked as the Medjai rode back into the oasis settlement, a litter carrying the murdered body of her sister-wife beside Rashid's mount.___

_"Stand aside." Ardeth ordered firmly. "And be thankful that I have no way to prove your involvement in this."___

_This time, Mohammed did not try to dispute Ardeth's words.___

_"What are you doing with my son?" he asked.___

_"Your son no more." Ardeth told him coldly. "He is Abdul-Rahman Khalifa."___

_"You CANNOT!" the elder spat.___

_"I have," the First Medjai, deadly calm. "Now get out of the way."___

_Rashid's arms tightened around her waist still more as they reached the middle of the settlement. She felt as though he did not really wish to be here… not without Rida… and she felt the same.___

_"Gently, Rashidi," she whispered, wondering if she should tell him at that moment about the child she carried or wait until he had recovered a little.___

_"Is something wrong?" he asked hoarsely.___

_"No, my heart," she answered softly, deciding it would be better to wait. "Just that you do not sometimes know the strength that lies in your arms."___

_"Forgive me," he whispered and kissed her neck gently.___

_"Nothing to forgive, my love." She accepted his help to dismount from his horse and then held his arm gently. "Come, you need to rest."___

_"I need to help them to prepare, R-ida," he countered, his voice cracking as he said her name.___

_Ardeth's hand descended onto Rashid's shoulder and she jumped, as did Rashid. She looked up at her First Medjai to find him smiling gently in her direction.___

_"Rashid, the healers will arrange everything," he said. "Go with Ghayda. Let her care for you now."___

_As if Ardeth's words had somehow released him from the necessity to be strong, Rashid leaned against her suddenly, barely holding his tears and as quickly as she could, Ghayda took him to their home and into her sleeping quarters._

"As soon as we were in private he cried like a baby, but it was still not enough." Ghayda said, her eyes filling with tears of her own at the memory. "When night started to fall and Ardeth came to help me dress him for the funeral service, it was as though he was completely lost. We took him to the funeral, but half way through it, he just…" 

_His hand in hers began to shake. It made her look at him in extreme concern. His brown eyes, usually so full of life and compassion were cold and hard as he stared across the clearing where the funeral pyre had been set toward the Elders that stood in silent attendance as his wife was laid to rest.___

_"Rashidi," she breathed.___

_But the shaking increased until he snatched his hand from hers, and spinning from the pyre walked with frantic steps to the coral that held his horse.___

_"Rashid!" she called after him, turning to go after him, but Ardeth caught her by the arm.___

_"Let him go," he said softly. "The desert will help to calm him. And you too need the time alone to grieve. Go… I will finish things here."_

"And so I went back to my home and I waited…" Ghayda sighed. "And he did not return. By morning, Ardeth, who had also been watching for him went out to try and find him. Over a week later, a border patrol of the Sixth Tribe found his horse wandering the Nile banks. Rashid wasn't with it." 

"What happened?" Meiri asked, looking up into the face of the emotion – near panic – that was on her face as she relived the experience. 

** 

_The knock on the door, in the middle of the afternoon made her jump. She looked up from where she was just finishing tying a bandage onto a young boy's leg. She listened for a moment, expecting it to come again, but nothing happened.___

_"Rest now," she said, and ruffled the boy's hair, smiling at his adoring expression as he lay down to do as she had told him.___

_Wiping her hands on a square of cloth, she moved toward the door of the hostel, through the lobby, disgustingly filthy where the plaster had peeled from the walls and the rot had set in. She shook her head as she pulled back the bolts on the door. How could she possibly hope to keep people healthy in a place like this?___

_He lay there, incoherent, shivering; just a mass of black where whoever had dumped him on the doorstep had left him.___

_She crouched down and laid her fingers on the upturned wrist she could see, and ascertained the problem at once.___

_"Omran," she yelled for the man that helped her to keep the shelter in order, employed, as was she – for a pittance – to see that no harm came to either her, or the residents. He came running. "Help me to get this man inside."___

_"How many times, Miss Aria, have I told you not to unbolt the door when I am not here?" he chastised, but none the less bend down to help her as she rolled the sick man onto his back.___

_Omran gasped.___

_"What?" she snapped.___

_"We cannot help this man."___

_"Nonsense," she started trying to struggle to lift him alone. "Everyone who comes here needing help will get it."___

_"But…"___

_"No buts, Omran. Now either help me, or get out of my way. I won't let this man die." She grabbed the muscled, black-clad arms of the man, clearly a warrior and began to pull him inside._

Aria sighed, and leaned back against the tree in the small courtyard, her fingers slowly stroking a lock of hair bound in a narrow strip of indigo fabric that she held in her hand as the memories flooded through her. She wrapped her arms around herself, and closed her eyes. 

_Omran caught her wrist as she started fumbling with the knot in the side of the sash that held the robes closed over her newest patient.___

_"Miss Aria," he said, squeezing almost painfully. "You must not."___

_"Oh for heaven's sake," she snatched her hand away. "So he's a man – it's not like I haven't seen a man before. I've seen many…"___

_"Not like this."___

_"Oh poppycock!" she said irritably. "Do you want him to die? He doesn't have time for your overdeveloped sense of what it proper. He too hot… look"___

_She turned her hand to grab Omran's and pull it toward the stranger's tattooed face so that he might feel the heat coming off the tortured body..___

_"Now go and get me water, and ice. If we don't get his temperature down, he's going to die." She let go and then returned her attention to the knot, struggling to fathom the unfamiliar twists and loops. Eventually she gestured in frustration toward the nearby table, "And hand me those scissors would you."___

_"No," Omran pushed her hand away from the knot with a sigh, and within seconds had it loose. "I hope you know what you are doing, Miss."___

_"Ice. Water, now…"___

_She watched him for a moment as he rushed away before she turned her attention to undressing the man lying on her treatment bed. Layer by layer she peeled away his clothes until he was lying in just the loose pants he wore. She knew that if she removed those, Omran would have an apoplectic fit at her lack of propriety, but they seemed light enough to be left on without hampering her efforts at healing the man.___

_Trying not to notice how magnificently muscular he was and not having time to marvel at the marks that graced his form, she checked him front and back for injuries. There were a few, but mostly superficial, except for a wound on his shoulder, that looked like a graze from a bullet. It was quite deep and in danger of becoming infected, but she was more worried about the heatstroke.___

_By his look, he was a man accustomed to life in the desert and his clothes were designed to maximise protection from the heat, so how did he end up suffering from it?___

_Omran returned with the ice and the water, and together they set about making him wet; wetting his remaining clothes and wrapping him in a cold wet blanket. The ice she wrapped in a cloth and placed around his head, before finally turning her attention to the shoulder wound.___

_When she turned from dealing with him, she had an audience of all the young boys and men, who were standing looking at her in awe._

** 

He reined his horse to a halt and looked over the darkening desert. If they hurried they would make the rocky outcrop before it was too dark to see to set the camp. He looked back to the young woman, riding silently beside Jonathan. She was quiet obviously exhausted and Jonathan was not much better. Rashid sighed. 

"What's wrong?" O'Connell reined in beside him and followed the direction of his gaze. 

"It would be better for us to make out camp in the shadow of the overhang," he said, "But I fear that both Jonathan and Doctor Hamlyn at too tired to make the rest of the journey before it becomes too dark." 

"Jonathan'll be okay," the American answered softly. "He's tougher than he looks." 

"I worry for him, O'Connell." Rashid confessed. "He has hardly spoken a word since we left Cairo." 

"And he's not the only one." He looked over at O'Connell as he felt his eyes burning into him. 

"It is just the worry, O'Connell… for Jonathan and for your wife," he answered. 

"No." the other man answered. 

"No?" 

"Look," O'Connell sighed. "I may not be a psychologist like out friend over there, but I've been around you guys enough to know when you got something eating away at you and you do, don't you?" 

"My concern is to take you safely to al-Kharga," he said. He did not want to talk of Aria, not to O'Connell. Much as he trusted the man – even liked him, he was not yet ready to take him into that close a friendship, when he was not sure he would even confess the matter to Ardeth. However, he was touched by the American's concern. He reached over and put his hand on O'Connell's shoulder. "But thank you, my friend." 

He watched the other man nod in understanding and then raising his voice he said, "We must reach those rocks before nightfall. Yalla!" 

** 

"Mama, look!" Husayn ran to where Aria still sat beneath on the bench beneath the tree. He carried a drawing with him. She took it from his hands and looked at it. A child's drawing of a horse – he so loved horses and always had – only this one had a rider. A man dressed in black robes. 

"You draw so well," she said picking him up onto her lap and thanking the woman that cared for him when she could not. "But now it is time for sleeping. The sun is setting." 

As she put him to bed, she looked often into his soft brown eyes, so like his father's and stroked her fingers through his hair… 

_Even when his temperature had fallen, and his shallow breathing evened out, he still did not wake. It was as though he did not want to wake. As though some great trauma had taken a hold of him and would not let him go.___

_Through two full days she watched him, dripped water into his mouth, carefully so that he would not choke or dehydrate still further. In the dim light of the morning she watched him, studying his handsome face – because in spite of the marks there, strange crescents, cupping striking lightning, and the hieroglyphs that graced his forehead – she found him more alluring than any other man she had ever seen.___

_He might have been dreaming, for his brow creased into a frown, and she thought she saw sadness in his face.___

_She reached out a hand that hesitated only slightly and began to gently brush her fingers through his hair. It fell through her fingers like silk and released a slightly musky scent of Jasmine and cedar mixed into a fragrance that bit right into the depths of her stomach.___

_"Aria, no…" she whispered into the silence, knowing that feeling, and knowing it could only lead the way of heartbreak. But still her fingers stroked and her emotion stirred. She closed her eyes.___

_"'Amla eeh?"___

_The question, softly spoken from his obviously dry throat made her jump and she would have snatched her hand away, save for the fact that his long fingers had closed around her wrist. Her heart began pounding in her chest as she opened her eyes and found herself falling into the deep brown gaze that met her, steady and surprisingly firm.___

_But he had asked her a question, something about "what?" She cursed again her limited Arabic, and would have thought that after a year living among the lost of Cairo she would have picked up more than she had. Perhaps he had asked her what she was called.___

_"Most people around here call me Miss Aria, because they cannot manage my surname. But I am called Aria Postlethwaite," she said.___

_"I asked what you were doing, not who you are," he corrected her and his eyes flicked up to her hand that he still held and then back to capture her eyes again. In spite of the dryness of his voice, she could almost hear the underlying tone, like warmed honey, with the softness of feathers that would caress the unwary, would seduce to trust the speaker.___

_"Oh, I erm…" she pulled her wrist from his grasp and got us from the side of his bed to walk a few steps away. She turned her back to him so that he would not see the blush that had spread over her unveiled face. "Would you like some water? Something to eat perhaps."___

_"Please," he asked. "A little water."___

_"All right, but you must also eat soon." She poured the water for him, and came to stand by him, close enough to hand him the cup, but not so close as to be disrespectful of his boundaries, as she had been while he slept. He sat up, holding the blanket that covered him in place with one hand and took slow, small drinks from the cup.___

_"How long," he asked, still looking at her intensely as he sipped the water. "And where is this place."___

_"Cairo," she answered, "And you were left here two days ago. On our doorstep, suffering from the effects of the heat."___

_He nodded once, and his eyes finally left hers to gaze into the distance, as if remembering, and after many moments the fleeting touch of something like grief seemed to sweep through him. She watched, her own eyes filling with the tears he did not shed as he looked down and closed his eyes, fighting with himself. He snatched a breath, almost a sob and let it out as a shuddering sigh.___

_"Forgive me," he breathed softly in Arabic.___

_That phrase she understood. It was one often spoken in the hostel where Cairo's lost and homeless came for shelter and aid, but she also understood that he was not asking it of her. It was the moment when she realised the man before her needed not physical help, but emotional healing.___

_"Give yourself time." She sat beside him and her hand hovered over his shoulder.___

_He looked at her then and she saw him coming back from whatever dark place had claimed him, his brown eyes rimmed with sorrow.___

_"Why do you weep?" he asked, his fingertips brushing against the wetness on her face. She closed her eyes, dislodging more tears which he caught on the side of his hand, she knew, because she could feel the backs of his fingers skimming over her cheeks. He whispered, "Do not weep because of me."___

_Embarrassed, she moved away suddenly.___

_"Let me get you something to eat," she said, sniffing and pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to dab her eyes dry. "You're clothes are there if you would like to get up."___

_She moved toward the door, suddenly needing to be free of the intoxicating presence of the man. He moved her; moved her more than even some of the children that daily bled her heart dry; he filled her with renewed compassion for the lost. It frightened her.___

_"Rashid," he said softly, his voice stopping her and making her turn. "My name is Rashid."_

** 

"I can honestly say that those two months were the worst of my life," Ghayda blinked and looked down at Meiri as she continued her tale. "Worse even than when my mother and father were killed, because then at least I had Rida and Rashid to comfort me. Now I had nothing… no one." 

"Surely Ardeth…" 

"He did what he could, of course he did," Ghayda said. "And Abdul, no doubt still riddled with guilt, fell over himself to offer what comfort he could. But it was Rashid I wanted… I needed, and I was so very sick, being with child as I was then." 

"What happened?" Meiri asked. 

"He returned," Ghayda shrugged. "Just like that… a sandstorm out of a cloudless sky. He came home, and fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around me and the child and begging out forgiveness." 

_"Forgiveness?" Ghayda cupped her hand beneath his chin and pushed back his head so that she could see into his eyes.___

_"I have wronged you, hayati," he wept.___

_She came to her knees then, in front of him, to wrap her arms around him and cradle his head against her shoulder.___

_"You came home," she murmured into his hair, "There is nothing to forgive."___

_She took his hand and pressed it against the tiny life growing inside her.___

_"This child and I… we need you Rashidi. I doesn't matter… whatever it is. I love you." She freed his hair from its bindings so that she could run her fingers in comfort through the dark waves of it until he calmed enough to raise his head.___

_"I have lost my honour, Ghayda," he began, and told her then – through shared tears – of the time he had spent in the hostel in Cairo and the woman that had shared his healing there… to whom he had given himself.___

_"Do you love her?" she asked tremulously, but in truth, through the tale she had heard and understood that he was not himself, and that the woman, Aria, had healed him – helped him to forgive himself and dare to love again, and to love still the family he had.___

_She smiled as she looked deeply into his eyes and saw the answer before he voiced it. She felt a rush of compassion for the woman he had left behind.___

_"Yes," he breathed.___

_"Then, my Rashid, this lapse in honour is not in acting as you did… but in leaving the one that so clearly loves you in return… since she let you go." She kissed him then, softly, gently. "Perhaps one day you will go to her again… perhaps I will, to thank her for returning my husband to me, healed and whole."_

"Ghayda, I'm sorry…" Meirionnydd breathed. "I didn't know, I…" 

"There is no reason you would." Ghayda smiled and cupped the other woman's face. "Meiri it is not uncommon for the Medjai to love more than one wife and had he asked my permission to bring her home, I would gladly have given it." 

"Why?" Meiri asked. 

"She did what I could never have done." Ghayda paused to wipe away a tear that found its way onto her face. "I was a part of his life, too close to Rida to be able to heal him of that. It was a darkness that would have destroyed what we shared, Rashid and I and Aria was there for him… to return him to the light. I truly hope, one day, that he will find the courage to see her again and to ask her the question that we both know he must." 

"Then why does it hurt you so much…?" 

** 

_"No, no, no…" he laughed and once more took the pen from her fingers. "Watch."___

_She watched his face intently as he once again wrote the word onto the piece of paper. Seeing the setting sun reflected in the brightness that was in his eyes.___

_"The pen?" he suggested and she blushed to have been caught.___

_He repeated the word and this time she watched as he wrote it. She took the pen from him then, sensation burning through them as his fingers lingered against hers and tried to copy the word beneath his own. Her Arabic was shaky and tense compared to the flowing script he produced on the page. It matched the way they were around each other after almost two months.___

_Once his shoulder had healed, and he had regained his strength from the heat sickness, he had begun to help Omran with some of the long needed maintenance work on the shelter. The two of them had completely stripped and repaired the mouldy wall in the lobby and had whitewashed it. It was not perfect, but it was the best they could manage on the pittance of a budget the City of Cairo afforded them.___

_He had helped with the children too – the boys especially seemed to look up to him – and he would tell them tales of Ancient Egypt to inspire them to honour and a life where they obeyed the laws as best their poverty would allow. Less and less often she heard the all too familiar story of one of the boys that she had saved from illness or injury had ended up in Cairo's filthy jail and she was sure it was all thanks to Rashid.___

_"Rifayya," he said, "Enough for to today, ya hasna'i."___

_She blushed at the teasing word he chose… calling her "his beauty." He chuckled as he rose smoothly to walk toward the lamp that he would light. She watched the way the shirt and pants seemed to caress him as he moved, and wondered why he had not once, in all the time he had been with them, put on the robes in which he had arrived.___

_She thought to ask… needing to coax him out of the, albeit friendly, shell he had woven around himself. For all the stories he told, for all the things he did, he rarely talked about anything personal, or about the grief that would still, from time to time crease his face with sorrowful pain. She opened her mouth to speak, but three of the newer boys appeared in the doorway, hesitantly looking up at Rashid as he turned from lighting the lamp.___

_"Rashid, sir," began one.___

_"We wanted to ask," another added.___

_"Come, come…" Rashid sat down on the bench and gestured for them to come to him. She smiled, seeing him as a natural father, and gathered the youngest boy close, onto his lap as the other two sat, one each side of him. "So… ask."___

_"Are you Medjai?"___

_She felt the change in the room instantly; watched as Rashid tilted his head down and taking a deep breath, that he let out slowly, closed his eyes.___

_"I am," he said finally.___

_"That protects the wealth of all Egypt from the treasure seekers," one boy asked in awe.___

_"Yes," Rashid answered softly, his eyes creeping up to meet with hers. Understanding passed between them. She had heard of the Medjai. Anyone that spent any length of time in Cairo soon came to hear of them. Of their fierce, uncompromising protectiveness over the wealth of history that Egypt held in Her land and in Her artefacts.___

_"And protects us from the curse of the Mummy?" the boy on his lap asked fearfully.___

_"That is what we are sworn to do," he answered, without taking his eyes off hers. This too she had heard. That the fearless Medjai guarded an ancient temple where lay a cursed priest, who if he awoke, would bring down a terrible curse on the whole of the world. She wanted to believe it just a myth, a story to frighten children, but the tales she had heard, of events in the last several years led her to believe…___

_"That keep the law in all of the Sahara?" The eldest of the boys looked straight at Rashid, respect shining from his eyes.___

_She saw another flash of almost agonised grief pass through Rashid's eyes before he answered very softly, "In the desert… the Medjai are the law."___

_She felt a pain in her own breast at that, as though she knew now she had lost him… whatever chance they may have had was gone… The Medjai were, by reputation, a very insular society, bound by laws and traditions that would not allow for them to come closer than the friendship they already enjoyed.___

_"I…" she swallowed, "I need to go and draw the bolt on the gate. Excuse me."___

_"Tell us… please," the first boy said again, "What is it like… being Medjai?"___

_"Another time," she heard the sad regret in his voice as she paused in the doorway. So there was more then, to this pain she felt in him.___

_"Please…" the boys persisted, affording her escape, for she had known too that he would come after her._

Aria looked up from her now sleeping son and picked up the lamp, to take it out into the garden and bolt the gate as she had done the night he was conceived. She could not help wondering what the future held for her son… but she feared that she had already lost him to his father… the Medjai… who in the desert, are the law. 

** 

Trembling… fighting with every ounce of the life in her frail body, she tried to escape the dark pall that descended over her. The shroud of anger, and hate… the rage that made her heart beat quickly and her empty womb ached for that which she had lost. 

"No!" she screamed in defiance, warning the dark robed man on whom she advanced, in the only way she could… even as she raised the ebony handled knife toward his back. 

He spun around and seeing the threat his own long curved knife came to his hand and he parried the sudden blow. 

"What are you doing?" he asked in confusion as she came on again, and again he defended. 

"I must have it," she fought to keep the words inside, but they found expression in a slashing lunge that caught his arm and tore through the sleeve of his robe, to draw blood that dropped slowly toward the sand of the desert. 

"Who are you?" he demanded, launching a blurring routine that she barely manage to hold back, until a clever flick of his wrist sent her weapon flying into the dwindling daylight. 

"Who are you!" he said again, and she saw the recognition dying in his eyes. He grabbed a handful of her long brown hair and forced her head back, pressing the sharp edge of his blade against her throat. 

Fear momentarily gave her the strength to push back the shadow from her mind and heart and she whispered softly, "Please don't kill me… help me, Wafid… please. I don't know what's happening to me. Ardeth… he… No…!" 

She moaned as she felt the darkness returning. It felt like a sickening heat creeping up from her feet to smother her… choking away what was left of the grieving woman she had been these last three years. 

"Har ya…!" she gasped, trying to take a breath. 

"What?" the Medjai asked. "Ardeth what?" 

"Har ya… har ya…" the words left her in a sigh. 

"Tell me," he shook her slightly, letting the blade come away from her neck. "Tell me, E…" 

Blood erupted from his mouth as the tip of the thick cruel blade emerged from his chest. The creature, born of his own life's blood on the sand behind him let out a hissing roar in triumph as it impaled him cruelly and pulled the blade free. 

She fell to the sand beneath him, tasting copper as her betrayal bathed her in the blood of the murdered Medjai. Involuntarily, sobbing until she was breathless, she reached into his robes to grasp the small golden bell that he wore on a leather thong around his neck and then wriggled from beneath the dead man. 

"WHY!" she screamed at the sky, still on her knees. Close by, the snake headed warrior waited, breathing in a quiet hiss as the blade it carried still dripped with the evidence of the vicious murder. 

** 

She stepped away from the gate and picked up the lamp once more; meaning to go back inside now that the courtyard was secure. The sheen of oil on the bolt caught her eyes, and brought another memory flooding through her. This one stole the strength from her legs, and she sank to the cobbles, pressing her hand against her chest in longing. 

_"Damned stubborn bolt!" Her eyes burned with tears as it refused to budge, but it was not truly the uncooperative lock that caused the tears___

_She almost fell as the bolt suddenly moved, sliding home into the housing and pinched the side of her hand against its rusted surface and scraped her knuckles against the wood of the gate. She gasped and brought her hand to her mouth, to try and warm away the sting with the heat of it.___

_"There now… you are hurt."___

_She spun round at sound of his voice and backed up a step, almost tripping on a loose cobblestone, only caught by his fast reflex. His strong hand cupped her elbow briefly, and then his fingers climber her arm to take her hand into his.___

_"Let me see," he said as she tugged on the hand, trying to be free of the man whose life she knew she could not share.___

_"It doesn't matter," she said.___

_"It does to me." His thumb brushed the sore spot on the side of her finger, caressing gently until the ache faded, until the sensation of his touch enlivened the nerves in every other part of her and made her forget. "Very much."___

_"Rashid…" She pressed her other hand against the soft cotton covering his broadly muscled chest.___

_"Aria," he answered, capturing her storm cloud eyes in the warmth of his. "You have no idea what you've done for me do you? In giving me time and space? If those children had asked me that question even a week before now, I would have denied it… denied myself."___

_"I've done nothing," she answered, swallowing hard as his long fingers shifted to hold her hand more fully. His touch passed softly over the back of her hand where she had grazed herself against the door. "Except perhaps to be your friend."___

_"These hands," he covered the hand that rested on his chest with his and lifted it away, to bring them both toward his face, "have given me such healing and comfort, Aria. From the moment you first ran you fingers through my hair you began it."___

_She shivered as his breath, warm and soft, moved over her hands as he all but kissed her fingers. She almost couldn't breathe as he pressed her hands against his cheek.___

_"You gave me back the strength to be that man you see before you, hilwai; the courage to… care again… to love." He breathed against the palm of her hand and she thought she would fall from the sudden lack of strength in her legs. "Come inside."___

_Still holding his hand she let him lead her back inside, and wordlessly up the stairs to her private quarters. He closed and locked the door behind them and again she shivered, from the heat that rushed through her at the through that they were alone. He let her go just long enough to unbind his hair, which then cascaded around his shoulders in warm, dark waves and then he drew her down to kneel with him on the low, cushioned bed.___

_She breathed in short, shallow gasps as he reached toward her, to take the veil from her head and toss it to the side before he ran his fingers through her hair, loosening it from the braid she wore and spreading it, a light brown cloak over her shoulders and down her back. She felt every moment. His fingers in her hair, kindling warmth and need inside her that spread through her as her hair tumbled around her, tickling against her hands where the had come to rest, immobile in her lap.___

_She breathed out a soft sound as his fingers skimmed along the length of her arms to find her hands, and raise them with soft touches to his shoulders to bring her closer to him still, before he once more touched her face gently, delicately running his touch over her cheeks before he cupped her face between his hands.___

_Heat rolled of his body, a caress around her as she trembled there, her hands becoming fists and tangling in his shirt as she began to feel his breath, and then the almost feather light touch of his lips on her brow, not once, or twice, but many times, as if the shower of his kisses could wash the frown she all to often wore and with it take away the pain of abandonment she had always felt. Did he sense that… did he know she was little better than the orphaned children that came to her for help?___

_Tears fell from her eyes as his kisses moved over them and over her cheeks, still light, still soft and sensual, barely brushing against her skin but sending tingling, swirling aches to weigh her limbs into place, deliciously heavy where she touched against him.___

_"Mati'ayyati," he breathed between kisses. "Ahebak. I will always be near to you no matter where we are."___

_He met her lips with his, their fullness delicate against her own as he captured her, wound his arms around her even as she opened to the gentle kiss. She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the woody, musky scent of him… heady… becoming all that she could sense around her.___

_A brush of heat along her already scalding lips preceded the deepening of their first, tentative kiss as his tongue teased softly into her mouth, to sweep around her own and map inside of it as he made it a home for the taste of him, spicy… bittersweet as the coffee they had shared earlier in the evening.___

_Her nipples became hard peaks against the fabric of her dress as his fingers skimmed along her spine, unfastening the buttons that held her dress closed in a series of delicate caresses that left her breathless as the kiss ended and… watching her intently, he peeled the dress away and down her arms.___

_Shyly she crossed her hands over her body, to hide the small curves of her breasts. He smiled kindly and reached to grasp the back of his dark shirt and pull it over his head, smiling more fully when a soft gasp escaped her lips at the sight of the curved, almost wave like pattern of the Medjai tattoos that graced each side of his chest, that she had all but forgotten trying so hard to ignore.___

_He reached out to take one of her hands from where she covered herself and placed it against one of the tattoos before enfolding her in his embrace to draw her to lie with him, her head against his shoulder on the soft sheets of her bed.___

_She traced the shape of the wave on his chest, following its many breaks with the gentle touch of her hand and felt the way his muscles danced beneath her touch, hearing the barely voiced moans that fell from his lips. Looking up at him she found him watching her, his eyes hooded with passion, gentle passion, but desire none the less.___

_"Medjai…" she breathed.___

_"Ya sitti," he answered, and dipped his head once more to capture her lips in a strong but tender kiss.___

_She voiced a soft moan of her own as his fingers once more moved over her arm, from where she touched his chest and his stomach. The touch passed over her shoulder, a breeze against her neck before dipping down to find the rolling curves that were her breasts. She felt he caressed her as if she were the most precious thing he had ever touched and the lightness of his fingers on her flesh sent new shivers through her, to awake still more the tingling swollen feeling in her core that somehow impaired her ability to breathe.___

_He leaned over her then, laying her back against the bed as he broke from the kiss and trailed soft breaths over her neck, behind the sweeping gentle caress of his tongue. She felt a hardness and a heat against her hip before she lost all though of that and her back arched as that touch settled where his hand had been. She could no longer contain the small cry that she gave as his mouth pulled softly at her hardened nub, and his hand found hers once more, their fingers almost fighting to entwine in soft caresses around each other, alternate flashes of white and honeyed olive and deep blue.___

_For many moments that touch of hand on hand, on arms and shoulders continued as he softly loved her breast with the touch of his kiss, his tongue and the careful graze of his teeth against her nipple, before he loosed her fingers, his hand taking another path entirely. Somehow she felt him push away the fabric of her skirts before the nudge of his knee between her own allowed his caresses to find that aching fire that raged between her legs.___

_She cried out softly and threw her head back against the pillows as his long fingers dipped into the dewy softness of her body's tender folds to tease and touch the centre of that spiralling need, that rushed still deeper with each sweeping caress until she was breathless and gasping from it, touching him in almost desperate caresses over his back and sides and stomach… her fingers finding and unfastening the ties on his pants.___

_He pushed them off, watching her as the colour rose in her cheeks, and she swallowed hard at the magnificent sight of him, hard and proud as he rose over her like the sun over the Sahara and she opened herself to admit him.___

_She wound her arms around his back and felt his fingers sliding into her hair, to turn her face up to meet his waiting kiss as his hardness began to pass inside her. The moment of being opened increased the spiralling breathlessness, before the sharpness, the pain of becoming tore her mouth from his and she cried out. She buried her head in the crook of his neck as he whispered soft words of comfort into her hair and stilled.___

_"Please don't stop," she almost breathed against his neck and ran her hands down over his spine until he moved again, and to stifle her cry she nipped at the soft flesh of his shoulder.___

_He breathed in sharply and moaned her name on the outward breath as he pressed deep inside her, taking her fully… making her his.___

_"Rashid!" she sobbed his name when she could once more catch her breath, as he began to rock against her, banishing the pain and bringing back the fire and the heat in a way that was so much more than before.___

_He nudged against the side of her face to bring her lips once more to his. She opened to the kiss, returning the passion he gave her, and moving with him as he moved his hips in bolder strokes that had him leave her body and return more strongly in the next moment. It was as nothing she had ever felt before… she felt as though she were dying from the pleasure of it. She began to raise her hips to meet his downward sweeping thrusts until she couldn't stand even that distance between them, and pulled him closer… pulling him against her, and clutching at his back as the wave broke over them both. She felt a heat spilling from him, to pulse deep inside her, that unlocked the emotion… the feeling… the sensation and shattered her into a million tiny pieces… like stars that swirled around her, and settled back inside with a tiny piece of his soul the place of a piece of her own.___

_"I give you my life, my love…" she heard him breathe against her neck as he fell against her softness.___

_"I love you, Rashid," she answered tearfully._

** 

"Come back with me Aria," he breathed into the darkness of the night, staring at the stars through eyes blurred with tears that ran over his temples to wet his hair and bedroll. "Come home"   



	11. Asking For Help

Chapter 11

  
  


_He sat on the side of the bed, looking down at the small lock of hair that lay in his lap, needing something to bind it with… to stop it from unravelling. His eyes passed around the room and finally settled on his robes.___

_They were neatly folded, actually looked as though they had been washed and cared for. His weapons likewise all sat carefully arranged next to the robes on the table.___

_Almost hesitantly he put the lock of hair onto his pillow and moved to gather his things, to bring them back where he might sit down and consider the thought he'd just had.___

_Medjai… a people… a way of life and he was a part of that. Warrior, protector… Husband and maybe one day, God willing, as a father he would continue that long tradition. It was all a part of that. The weapons, the robes… but more than anything the sash that held it all together; that bound together the many facets of a Medjai warrior's life.___

_He picked up the folded sash and held it on his lap, stroking his hands along the smooth woven fabric and letting the fringes run through his fingers. Rida had woven it – had made it for him, as she had every one since they were married. It replaced the ones his mother and sisters had made for him when he was first made a warrior.___

_It was tradition, to represent her love for the warrior that was her husband or her son or brother, and trust in that love to keep him safe… a woman would make the sash.___

_Love… the hidden truth that held the Medjai together through the long centuries of their sacred duty.___

_He smiled to himself – for the first time since she died – remembering Rida without the paralysing agony of loss. Aria had given him that gift with her quiet caring… with her concern for him, silent though it was – and with her love… and the gift she had given him as they consummated that love. She had set him free of the chains of loss.___

_Slowly he took the sharpest of his small daggers from its sheath and deliberately and carefully sliced off a piece of sash and then bound it into the lock of his hair. Allah only knew it was little enough he could give to her in return, but it was a symbol, along with the many others that shaped the man he was.___

_He closed his eyes for a moment, to steady himself, to find that moment of stillness within and then he rose to his feet. Putting the lock of hair into a pouch on his leather belt and freeing his hands of the other things he held, he stood and picked up the inner robe, soft against his fingers, and slipped it on. He felt the weight of it settle around his shoulders and with it the returning weight of his authority, his Oaths as a warrior of the Medjai.___

_He did likewise with the outer robe, wrapping them both around him and then quietly respectful, completed the ritual of dressing by picking up the sash, which he wound around himself, and knotted in the traditional way. Then he stood up straight, pausing to take a deep breath which he let out slowly.___

_"Til…"_

"…Death…" he breathed softly. 

"See anything?" Rashid turned from where he was gazing, unseeing, out over the desert, keeping watch over his small party, slightly startled that O'Connell had managed to get so close without him noticing. 

"All is quiet," he answered, meeting the American's eyes. "How is Jonathan?" 

"Sleeping," O'Connell answered. 

"And the woman?" 

"Exhausted, though she won't admit it." 

Rashid chuckled slightly and looked back over the desert. "They rarely do my friend… they rarely do." 

O'Connell cleared his throat and asked softly. "Is everything all right, Rashid? With Ardeth I mean…" 

"Our First Medjai has many things on his mind O'Connell," Rashid answered, remembering Ardeth's quiet command as he had seen him to the door of his home, that he was to mention nothing of the wedding to the American. "But he will not forsake his friendship with you. That is why he sent us to bring you to him." 

** 

The narrow stairs were hard enough to climb with nothing in her hands, full of linen – clean sheets and blankets for the room that was at the head of the steep stone steps – they were little better than dangerous. She sighed. She had to air the room. There was a woman downstairs that would need the privacy, but the last time she had been in the room… 

_She couldn't stifle the gasp that escaped her lips as she pushed open the door, to bring in fresh linen and saw him standing at the window. Fully dressed in his Medjai robes, he was an imposing sight. She swallowed hard, and pressed a hand against her suddenly aching chest.___

_"I… brought you some fresh linen," she said softly.___

_"Thank you," he said, but did not turn. From the sounds coming in through the open window she knew he was watching the boys in the yard… inspired by his presence… who were playing at being warriors. She sighed as she walked over to him and laid a hesitant hand in the middle of his back.___

_"You're leaving, aren't you?" Her voice was low, and sad… more of a statement than a question, since she already knew the answer in her heart and had done the moment she saw him dressed in the robes of the Medjai… before that perhaps.___

_"I must, kalila," he answered with a sigh. Then he whispered, "And I ask your forgiveness for it."___

_Her hand trembled against his back and she snatched it away. "The moments we shared will always be with me Rashid."___

_He turned then, and caught her hand before she could move away, bringing it to rest beneath his own against his chest. He looked down into her eyes, strong and firm, a rock for her to lean against in the sorrow that flooded her… that she fought not to express.___

_"As they will for me also," he said softly, reaching out with his other hand to brush his thumb against her cheek. She closed her eyes at the touch, turning her head to press her cheek more firmly against his hand. "Hayati… ana Medjai… I have made vows, little one…sworn sacred oaths on my life… I cannot forsake who I am, you must understand that."___

_She did not fight him when he drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her. She held him tightly. She did understand… she wanted to tell him that but the words would not come from beyond the gaping emptiness that filled her at the through of being without him.___

_"I must return to my brothers and to my family. To…" he stopped and sighed.___

_"To you wife…" she finished for him.___

_"Forgive me… I should have told you." He cupped her head between his hands to lift it from his chest and guide her to look up at him.___

_"She must miss you very much," she said, her lips trembling as she tried to blink away the tears in her eyes.___

_"Aria…" He leaned down and her eyes closed as he kissed away the tears, and continued to kiss until their lips met in a lingering farewell.___

_"When?" she asked, barely audible as the kiss broke.___

_"Soon," he answered, resting his head against hers. She understood then that he would not tell her – to spare them both the moment of farewell. "If ever you have need of my help, my love, go to the Museum of Antiquities, ask for the curator there, and give him the message to bring to me. Rashid Khalifa of the First. Promise me you will do this thing."___

_"I promise…" she whispered. "I love you Rashid… So much!"___

_Her last words came out as the sob she could no longer contain as he drew her into his arms again, whispering softly, "Ent vi amriii ma soft methlik."_

She found herself leaning against the shuttered windows, her hands pressed against her body, against the ache she felt still… even though, to let him go a second time had been once more her own choice. One hand strayed into her pocket and closed around the softness of the lock of hair that had been his parting remembrance to her… 

_The sunlight hit her face where the partly open shutter in her room let the morning's touch creep inside. She frowned a little… the shutter only opened when her door was not properly closed. Had someone needed her in the night and tried to waken her?___

_She let her eyelids flutter open, and stretched her body a little from where she lay, curled on her side, her hands in front of her face in almost an attitude of prayer. As her fingers moved, something tickled against her palm. Her eyes snapped open as she felt around the softness, her heart beating wildly for a moment in the thought that some creature might have crept upon her in the dark and…___

_She stopped, her heart instantly slowing almost to a halt as she set eyes on the lock of hair that lay in the palm of her hand, bound in an almost black strip of fabric.___

_With no conscious thought she rose from her bed and on bare feet, the billowing white of her night dress flailing behind her, ran from her room and down the corridor to the room at the top of the narrow staircase.___

_"Rashid…" she sobbed as she found the room empty.___

_The bed had not been slept in. She sank down onto the soft surface of it… burying her face in the bedclothes, hoping for some comfort from the scent of him, but the linen was fresh and barely the vaguest trace of cedarwood remained. She gripped the lock of his hair tightly in her hand, against her chest and wept as though her heart was breaking a thousand times over._

** 

The late afternoon sun beat down on the rock to either side of them, but the huge edifice kept them cool as they followed Tarek on the final leg of a journey that had been far longer than Rick had allowed for. He was hot… he was irritable… he was worried about Jonathan, who had grown more and more silent as they got nearer and nearer to the Medjai settlement, but more importantly, he was worried about Evy too. 

Rashid had left them earlier in the day, speaking in quiet undertones to his Brother Medjai before he excused himself and turned his horse once more back out into the deeps. Rick couldn't help but wonder where he was going. 

"Is it much further?" he called to the warrior up ahead. 

"Once we are through these rocks," Tarek called back. "Then we will reach al-Kharga." 

"Thank god!" 

Rick glanced over to the woman riding beside his brother-in-law as she made her exclamation of relief. She looked more than a little the worst for the journey. He shrugged. She had been warned and had said she could handle herself. 

He shifted his gaze to look at Jonathan, and then moved his horse a little closer when he saw fear in the other man's eyes. 

"Soon be there huh? Decent meal… soft bed… hot bath maybe…?" 

"I can't do this," he whispered. "You don't know what it's like." 

"Jonathan…" Rick sighed. "Ardeth… is your friend. He knows it wasn't you, doesn't hold anything against you he…" 

"I feel him, Rick," Jonathan interrupted. 

"Ardeth?" he asked confused. 

"Seth…" he moaned and leaned over the neck of the horse. "It's happening again I just know it, I…" 

"I think that's quite enough, O'Connell" Doctor Hamlyn reached over and laid her hand on the back of Jonathan's neck. 

"Hey just… back off lady!" he snapped. 

_"Mister_ O'Connell, I resent your tone," she replied crossly. 

"Resent it all you like," he raised his voice. "How the hell do you think you can help him with the attitude you have, you…" 

"You're only making it worse for him, feeding his delusions." 

"Delusions…" Rick floundered for a second and from the corner of his eyes he noticed Tarek had reined in his horse and was turning to come toward them. "Just who the hell do you think you are?" 

Jonathan moaned. 

"I'm a psychologist, Mister O'Connell. A doctor… and this man is not well. He's…" 

"Stop it!" Jonathan cried, sitting up. "Stop it, _both_ of you." 

Tarek's horse half reared at the sudden shout, brought down, Rick saw, by the skill of the rider, who then moved between Jonathan and the woman, his hand on the hilt of his blade. 

"I thought I told you," he said dangerously. "The things this man speaks of… the things he suffered and suffers still, they are real… they are true… and they are as much a danger to you as they are to him. I pray Allah you never find out." 

Rick sighed as she sat up straighter in her saddle and glared at Tarek. 

"You can't intimidate me, Mister Ghani," she said and Rick had to admit a grudging flurry of respect at her trying to stand up to the Medjai warrior. "I am a woman of science." 

He leaned closer to her in the saddle and in spite of her words, she leaned away. 

"Then know this, woman of science… Many good men have died so that you can maintain your blissful ignorance and it would be wise, while you are on Medjai land, to at least respect our beliefs." He looked at Rick and Jonathan before turning back to her. "And the beliefs of those we call our brothers." 

He sat very still for a moment longer, and Rick saw the doctor flinch slightly, as though she had seen something more in the intense stare he knew she was receiving – having been on the receiving end of similar stares himself – from the Medjai. Then Tarek tugged on the reins and turned his horse to continue the journey through the pass between the rocks. 

"Kull Kwayyis," he called out as they began to move and in the shadows of the rocks, Rick thought he saw a brief flash of sunlight off metal. 

"Just promise me…" Jonathan's hand settled on his own for a moment. "If it starts again… Promise me you'll kill me." 

"It won't come to that Jonathan." He shook his head. "I _can_ promise you that." 

** 

She was starting to doubt the wisdom of wanting to study the Medjai, and of using Jonathan to do so. He was so obviously a man in deep emotional pain, but she could not reconcile the things he said troubled him with what she knew of the real world. 

The Medjai, Tarek, had twice now told her of the reality of the things of which Jonathan had spoken to her in private, from the depths of his nightmares, and when she had looked into the Egyptian man's eyes she had seen the echo of that staring back at her, but it simply couldn't be… 

Mummies didn't get up and walk… People did not get killed, only to be returned to life by the power of words read from a book, or by the shaking of some ancient artefact and the murmuring of some ancient Egyptian words… and the sand didn't turn in to huge beasts from a single drop of blood that would attack and kill all living creatures around them to sate their incredible hate and anger… did they. _Did they?_ In the face of such conviction from her companions she began to question herself. 

She followed the others as they rode further through the pass, feeling the chill as they passed the centre and then the returning warmth as they began to reach the sunlight on the other side. Emerging from the pass, she gasped at the sight before her. 

The settlement, and she had expected little more than a ragged collection of tents, was a bustling hive of activity where there must easily have been several thousands of people. There were solid structures as well as tents, and all seemed to radiate outward, web like from the dual centre of the oasis itself, a massive lake of cool clear water and the open space beside it. 

"Oh… my God!" she exclaimed, a sentiment echoed by both O'Connell and Jonathan. 

"Now perhaps, you begin to understand," Tarek said softly. 

"I had no idea," Jennifer said breathlessly watching a group of veiled women walking through the settlement. "I thought you were a nomadic people. I thought…" 

"The Medjai have never been nomadic. We have always had a centre that we called home, whether that was with the Pharaoh we guarded or at one of the twelve Great Oases of the desert," Tarek corrected her. "But a home none the less. Come…" 

** 

"O'Connell," Ardeth dipped his head in a slight bow and then clasped the other man's hand to draw him into a brief embrace. 

"Ardeth," the American's soft voice was infused with emotion and somehow this moved him to worry more than had any other news. "I need your help." 

"And you shall have it, my friend," he answered and turned to Jonathan. 

He immediately saw the fear in the other man's eyes, the hurt and worry. He held out his hand and when Jonathan took it, hesitant and unsure in the way it felt, he tightened his grasp and embraced the wiry Englishman. 

"Good to see you again, Jonathan," he said, meaning every word. 

"Likewise," Jonathan answered, but his voice lacked conviction and Ardeth didn't miss that. He frowned slightly and Jonathan backed up a step and almost tripped over the edge of a rug. 

"Still just as wrong footed as ever I see," he said lightly. 

"Well," Jonathan dragged out the word. "You know me…" 

"Yes, my friend," he said seriously, "Yes I do. Which is why I know there is something wrong. Tell me…" 

"Oh… Evy's missing… the handle gone…" 

"With you, I mean." Ardeth interrupted softly. 

Jonathan let out a nervous little laugh, "Can't put anything past you, eh old chum?" 

"Indeed," he answered, "So please, sit…" 

He inclined his head toward the cushioned seating around a low table. 

"We have much to speak on, I…" 

"Mister Bay." A soft female voice interrupted him and in swung around in the direction of the woman that had spoken. "I'd like to say how absolutely delighted I…" 

"Doctor Hamlyn," he said, identifying the woman and completely ignoring her outstretched hand. "I thought I had made myself clear back in Cairo when I declined your request." 

"Yes well things have rather changed," she said a little hesitantly. 

"On that you and I are in total agreement," he said sharply. 

"Good then…" 

"As soon as you are rested I will have you escorted back to Esna to take the steamer back to Cairo." He did not react as she began spluttering. "With matters as they are I cannot allow you to remain in the Sahara." 

"I beg your pardon!" she managed to finally put a sentence into words out of the midst of the disbelief that was evident in her eyes. 

"I believe you heard my words," he said, softly but firmly. "What is it that you do not understand?" 

"What the _hell_ gives you the right to…?" 

"Erm… Jenny?" O'Connell interrupted. "You might just want to think about that one for a minute, hmmm? Sahara… Medjai… First…" 

"I don't care if he's the bloody son of Osiris himself he…" 

"Enough!" Ardeth raised his voice making them all jump and Jonathan whimpered. He turned to face the American standing behind him. "O'Connell, this is not the time for levity." 

He looked at Jonathan's pale face looking up at him from the haven of cushions by the table. "Jonathan… tell me everything." 

Then he turned his bubbling anger at being betrayed on the woman that was trespassing in Medjai territory. His oaths forbade him hurt the woman, not that he would without them, but even so she had to be made to see this was not some game and that his word was not to be ignored. 

"You… I will deal with you later." He pointed at the cushions beside Jonathan. "Sit." 

She turned her face up to meet with his and her lips twitched with the smart answer he was sure was poised there. His eyes blazed at her open and blatant defiance and she must have seen it because the harshness faded from her own eyes to be replaced by the almost reluctant, startled expression. She moved carefully past him to the place he indicated and sat down. 

"Now, what is going on?" Ardeth joined Jonathan and Rick at the table. "Besides Evelyn's disappearance." 

Jonathan looked down at the tabletop, but wouldn't… or more accurately he felt, couldn't say anything about it. Perhaps it was because of the woman. 

"Ashna," he called, and heard his wife's soft tread on the floor behind him. 

"Yes, Ardeth?" 

"Please will you take the lady here and find her something more suitable to wear among the Medjai." He turned back to the doctor, switching back to English from the Arabic he had spoken a moment before to Ashna. "Go with my wife. She speaks very little English, but I am sure you will manage." 

"Just like that," she said. "You're _dismissing_ me?" 

"You wanted the chance to see what life was like among the Medjai." Ardeth answered. His patience was becoming stretched thin. "I am giving you that chance. Now go with my wife." 

"God, I don't _believe_ you people," she said, but none the less she got up and followed Ashna out of the room. He watched them go, and then turned back to O'Connell and Jonathan. 

"Your _wife_?" O'Connell asked him, incredulous. "What the hell happened to Meiri, she…" 

"It is a long and complicated story, my friend," he sighed. "And one that further delays the things that need to be spoken here. Why is it that you bring this woman with you?" 

He looked between the faces of his two friends and for long moments neither of them spoke. When one did it was O'Connell that offered an explanation. 

"We erm… we kind of bumped into her in Cairo," he said "She took a shine to Jonathan. Look buddy, we had no idea you'd met her and I have no idea what's going on there but I'm sorry okay?" 

With matters more pressing, though he knew there was more to the tale than O'Connell had said, Ardeth inclined his head in acceptance of his friend's apology. 

"It is done, O'Connell. I cannot change it now, other than to send her home," he turned his attention to the Englishman. "Jonathan, do not be ill at ease here. I have told you, I do not hold you responsible for anything that happened. You are my friend, my brother." 

"It's not that, it…" 

"Then whatever it is let us face it together," he said and leaned forward, "as we always have done." 

Jonathan sighed and seemed to sink back against the cushions, as if suddenly tired and Ardeth looked up again to find O'Connell smiling at him. 

"Now tell me, O'Connell. What of your wife?" 

** 

Rick sighed. 

His friendship with Ardeth was strong. He was a trusted companion and Rick couldn't think of another person he would trust in the way he did Ardeth and yet he still had not – through the three long years since the death of his daughter, told the Medjai the whole of the story… 

With another, long, slow sigh he started to speak. "After the child was… when she… Evy threw herself into her work at the museum to keep busy after the loss. She looked as though she was okay… I was stupid to believe that. I should have got her some help." 

"What happened?" 

"By the time I realised how bad things were, I found out that Evy had be hurting herself. She blamed herself for the fact that the baby was dead and was punishing herself with it. It took me almost two years to notice there was something so wrong with my wife, Ardeth." Rick broke off – the pain too great. "I always thought I could protect her." 

Ardeth nodded slowly. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but held his silence and waited for Rick to continue. 

"I called a doctor and he… had her admitted to a hospital, where she's been since then… until whomever it is came and took her." 

"For what purpose was she taken to the hospital?" Ardeth frowned. "Surely her healing would be better undertaken at home with her family… with her loved ones, now that the problem had been recognised." 

Rick shook his head, recognising in Ardeth the same frustrated anger that had been a part of his life over the last year. 

"They didn't trust us to keep her safe from herself," he said. "So they took her in and…" 

"Are you trying to tell me that that Evelyn has spent the last twelve months in an asylum?" Ardeth snapped, his frustration finding a channel for expression. Rick looked away, ashamed. Put like that… 

"And there but for the grace of God, go I." Jonathan interrupted, his words silenced the angry Medjai as both he and Ardeth turned to look in Jonathan's direction, and for that he was profoundly grateful. 

"What… do you mean?" Ardeth asked. 

"I've been dreaming again." Jonathan said mournfully. "Like before. Like when Seth…" 

"Jonathan I told you," he started to interrupt, but stopped when Ardeth raised his hand. 

"Do not be so quick to dismiss his dreams, O'Connell. They may be _only_ dreams and not the herald of something more sinister. But dreams can often show us things… things that once were or things that may come to pass. You should know that from when Evy had her own dreams and visions." He shuddered at the earnest tone in Ardeth's voice. "It may be, through the touch of the Ancient God upon his soul, that Jonathan has become a seer." 

** 

By the time he reached where she was hidden it was almost full dark. He had hoped to be there sooner. His heart churned as he led his horse into the small outer cave and he gave thought to telling Ghayda all that he had learned. 

He went about the task of settling his horse for the night automatically. _How would she react? How would she take the news? _He sighed and lifted the saddle from the back of the huge beast… taking out a bristle brush from his pack and running it over the fine Arabian stallion more by feel that by sight. It took a while, and did not steady him as much as he would have liked. 

No sounds came from the cave beyond, no voices, no laughter, but a glow of light crept around the blanket that his eyes could see, since they had adjusted to the blackness around him. 

"Stay here, my friend, and take your rest," he murmured to the horse and picked up his belongings to take them with him into the larger cave that was Meiri's home. 

They were sleeping. The two children were wrapped up together and the women, Meiri in her bed, and Ghayda on the skins that made her bedroll, slept nearby. The lamp was turned down low and flickered slightly in the draught as he opened the curtained doorway. It sent shadows dancing over the walls, to come to rest over his wife's soft skin. 

His eyes filled with tears. She was so beautiful. She was his rock and now he was to bring her the news of what he had found in Cairo… No not what… who… news of his child. He was loathe to wake her with it so lowered himself to the ground beside her bed to sit and watch her sleeping. 

Thoughts of Cairo, and the way he sat looking down at the woman he loved reminded him of the other time, the other place he had sat and watched a woman sleeping. Was it cowardly of him to have left then, without saying goodbye… as it was for him to leave things unsaid to Ghayda when she had a right to know? 

_She was sleeping. The moonlight that crept in where the shutters had opened with the change in air pressure in the room lay across her face, a face that shone with beauty, matching its bright colour. He was glad that the disturbance did not wake her as he lowered himself to sit beside her, and watch over her for a while, building a memory.___

_"Aria, what things you have done for me," he breathed soft into the room. "I will never forget you… or the love we have shared."___

_He reached into the pouch on his belt to take out the lock of hair. He ran it through his fingers for several moments longer, watching her. Half of him wished she would wake, so he could tell her all the things going around in his head and in his heart, but the other insisted that they were better left unsaid – that what had been said already was enough.___

_She knew how to contact him if she needed him.___

_She murmured and turned over in her sleep. He held his breath. Perhaps she would wake after all. A strand of her hair fell across her cheek and her hands settled on the pillow beside her face, as though she were praying.___

_Praying…___

_"Allah keep you safe, my sweet love," he whispered, and reached out to lay the lock of his hair into her hand before carefully smoothing back her own. Dare he risk a light kiss of farewell?___

_His fingers stroked through the silk of her hair one last time and then he rose and, fighting the temptation to cast another long look over his shoulder at the sleeping woman, he left the room as silently as he had entered._

He sighed. 

"Rashid?" 

He turned his head as Ghayda sat up sleepily and turned toward him as she often did when he returned during the night from the patrols he made around Al-Kharga. He raised a tattooed hand to stroke the side of her hair and sighed again when she turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand. 

"What is it?" she asked him, her arms around his shoulders encouraging him to come to rest beside her. 

"Ghayda no," he said softly, not wanting to wake the others. "Get up." 

"What's wrong, hayati?" 

"Please, kalila, get up," he took her arms from round him and started to ease her to her feet. "Come out with me where we can speak." 

** 

She rose quickly, her heart pounding. 

It had been many years since she had seen him like this, and she did not like it. He was suffering, and needed her steady hearted wisdom. 

He didn't say anything to her as she rose and pulled on more clothes against the chill that would be outside the caves, he just slipped off his outer robe and draped it tenderly around her shoulders. In fact he didn't say anything at all until they were outside the caves, under the stars, where he turned to her and took a hold of her hands, turning them both so that his body would shelter her from the chill night wind, even though she was better dressed than he. 

"You are starting to frighten me," she said softly. 

"Forgive me." 

"Always, my love." She freed a hand from his to reach up and press the warmth of it against his cheek. "Rashid whatever troubles you cannot be so dreadful that we cannot face it together." 

He sighed and opened his mouth but shook his head. "I fear to hurt you, Ghayda." 

Everything inside her rearranged itself. Through all the years of their marriage there had never been another time he had refused to talk to her as he was doing now. She searched her memory, her thoughts and even the darkest of her fears to think what it might be. _Save one time… Ghayda Khalifa… she told herself._

"Speak… Rashid, I cannot help you if you will not tell me." She softened at the look on his face and at last gave voice to her fear. "You were in Cairo. Have you finally spoken to Aria?" 

"You know me too well, my wife," he looked down as she moved a step away from him. She took her time to catch the unravelling threads of her emotions as those fears were realised before she then turned back to face him. 

"And you want to bring her home?" she asked. 

He shook his head, but whispered confirmation both at the same time and she frowned in confusion. He must have mistaken that frown for something other than she meant because he took a step forward toward her. 

She both surprised and shocked herself when she stepped back and held up both hands to fend him off. He stilled at once, and a look of pain came over his face as she rejected his comfort. 

"Ghayda," he gasped. "I do not seek to displace you." 

He reached for her again and this time her unruly body did not move as he took her hands in his. She barely felt the touch of his fingers as they moved over her hands, cold now. Her head chastised with every thought imaginable at her response to his honesty, to the honour that drove him to speak with her, to seek her approval as he must, but as many men, even among the Medjai did not, but her heart… 

_Was this what Rida must have felt when he brought me home?_

"You are my wife, and love you with everything that I am…" he said. 

"But you seek to reconcile the dishonour you feel you have given her and once I told you that to do that would be to bring her home to us… to our family." Ghayda answered, her eyes filling with tears. "Bring her home then, my love; for I will not see you suffer this any more." 

"I cannot," he whispered and drew her closer, sighing. She felt a teardrop land on the top of her head and knew that he too was weeping. "She will not come." 

The pain she felt flew away in the face of the sobbed words he delivered into her hair. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, the two of them sinking to the ground holding each other. 

"Tell me everything, my soul's heart," she said softly. "Does she not love you as you thought she did? Has she forgotten you… is there another? What…?" 

"There is no other, and yes… she loves me still, but she will not leave the lost of il-qahira with no help or solace." He sighed. "Ghayda, there is more…" 

She pulled back to search his eyes for the truth to which he alluded, the answer was obvious. 

"She bore a child to you," she said. 

"A son," he nodded and he sighed. 

"I see." 

She swallowed hard. 

Silence fell between then, heavy and as thick as the sands of the desert. _She bore his son... his first born son._ The chill in her hands crept along her arms and they grew heavy. She felt lost. _How can I match that…? What is there left for me to give to him…?_

"Say something," he begged her, his voice barely a whisper. 

"I cannot." She shook her head and looked past him at the clear, dark desert sky, sprinkled with stars that shone like the teardrops that would not come. "What would I say? She has done what I cannot." 

He sighed, and she looked at him. 

"What?" she asked, trying not to voice the pain she felt in her heart. "Will you deny him then?" 

"You know I will not," he said softly. 

"Then what is to be said?" she asked. Her voice wobbled as the enormity of what he said settled over her and cut her further from the life she had seen in her future to bring her to the one that she so greatly feared… a life in which she took second place to another woman, or another woman's child. 

It had been different with Rida… they had all been close. Rida had been like a sister to her. Could she ever think to approach that with another woman…? And one that would not come to be with him… what would that mean for them…? _Will there even be an "us" for it to mean anything to?_

"Ghayda?" 

His soft voice, gentle and as full of love as always broke through the wall she was so frantically building around her pain to keep it away… from her… from him… She sobbed aloud and slapped the middle of his chest with both her hands. 

"Rashid… why!" 

He caught her arms and held her against him, sighing softly beneath where her head rested against his chest. His fingers stroked through her unbound hair. The sensation usually soothed her. 

"I cannot answer the whys and wherefores of it," he said softly. "Just that it is, but hayati, between _us_ it changes nothing." 

"It changes everything," she argued. 

"How?" he asked, pulling her away from him. Her teeth rattled together as he shook her slightly. "How so?" 

"He is your son… you heir," she said. 

"And if _he_ were a daughter, or Nabilah a son I would be acting just the same as now." He shook her again a little, frustration evident in his voice. "I can see I have been leaving you in the company of other Medjai women far too often." 

She chuckled once at that, but held her breath, hardly daring to believe that he meant what he had just said. His voice softened. 

"Where is my Ghayda?" he asked. "Where is the woman I love, with more wisdom in a single though of hers than I have in all of my heart. I need her help…" 

"Rashid…" she whispered. 

"I don't know what best to do," he confessed. "And I am afraid." 

"You can do _nothing_, my love," she told him, relief rushing in to fill the emptiness that was the space where her heart used to beat. The compassionate touch of it returned the security she felt in him. "You have asked her to return with you and she has refused. And I know that while you will not like to hear this, you too know that her reasons for refusal are valid. They are good and gentle reasons. They are the exact same reasons _I_ would have given." 

He looked at her then, and she smiled and wiped his tears away with the edge of her sleeve and then sighed as he leaned down to dry hers with the gentle touch of his kisses. 

"But my child…" he said at last. 

"Will know his father," she smiled more fully. "And if she is even half the woman as you once described her to be, she will allow him to make his own choices – when the time comes." 

He sighed and shook his head, his expression one of amazement and love. 

"I love you," he said after many long moments. 

"With all my heart," she answered softly, accepting his help to bring her to her feet once more. 

"Will you give me a brother for him, and for Nabilah?" he looked down into her eyes and she saw his love and his desire for her reflecting the starlight that shone overhead. She blushed. It had been many months since he had shared her bed in ways other than to rest and she missed that closeness, that intimate surrender, but to attempt to become pregnant? 

She pressed her hand over her belly, thinking of Meiri and the problems she was having; thinking of the loss of the baby that had been the reason she and Rashid were now so careful these long months past… but an ache stirred where her hand pressed and her heart fluttered at the thought of it. 

"Yes," she answered softly. "Or a sister." 

"Or a sister," he agreed with a smile and leaned down to capture her lips in a long, slow kiss that woke the need to have him nearer, his skin against hers. "Wait there." 

"Where are you going?" she asked, frowning in puzzlement as he moved toward the cave. 

"To get my tent," he said and turned back to flash her a mischievous smile. "We do not want to wake Meiri with the sounds of our love." 

** 

"Dad," Alex called over and then ran up to them. Ardeth snapped a gaze over at O'Connell as he saw the boy. "This place is neat!" 

"You brought you son?" he asked surprised. 

"Not exactly," O'Connell answered. "He stowed away on the ship." 

"Hello, Mr Bay," Alex said politely. 

"Alex," he inclined his head slightly in the boy's direction… no, a boy no longer. He was a young man now. He looked him over. He was tall, would likely be his father's height and had the same sandy brown hair. He had his mother's eyes though, round and inquisitive. He looked to be a strong young man and the way he met Ardeth's gaze, almost challenging him to treat him like a child, impressed the Medjai warrior very much. 

"I'm going to help you and O'Connell find your mother," he said, giving the young man the approval and respect he felt he needed. 

"I know you will, sir." Alex answered. 

"But first the two of you and your uncle need…" 

"Ardeth!" 

The urgent cry of his name and the thunderous pounding of hooves interrupted his sentence and he turned in the direction of the incoming riders in time to see Essam sliding from the saddle and starting toward him. 

The Medjai warrior glanced in O'Connell's direction and dipped his head in a bow which Ardeth saw the American return. 

"The first of the Guardian's is murdered, Ardeth." Essam said breathlessly. He closed his eyes and breathed a soft but vehement curse as his loyal companion continued. "Several days since, by my guess, and the bell has been taken. The sands have covered all trace of who or what might have killed him." 

He put his hand onto the other man's shoulder. 

"Thank you, Essam," he said. "I am sure you have done all that you could and discharged you duty well. Go to your rest. I will deal with this." 

"Yes, my lord." Essam inclined his head in a gesture of respect among amongst fellow warriors and then left. 

"Ardeth?" O'Connell questioned as he turned back to face his friend. 

"It seems you may have been right about your wife's disappearance, O'Connell," he explained, starting to lead them back toward his house. "I sent Essam out to check that the seven Guardians; the Medjai I assigned to guard the bells of the Sistrum of Isis." 

"Let me guess…" O'Connell said entirely without humour. 

"Yes, at least one of the Guardians is dead and the bell is missing." Ardeth interrupted. "We must go to the others and retrieve their bells to prevent this from happening again." 

"We?" O'Connell grabbed the sleeve of his robe and pulled him to a halt. "What we? I came here to find my wife, not go chasing off around the Sahara after a load of b…" 

"O'Connell," Ardeth interrupted. "I understand your concern for your wife, but trust me… whoever is killing the Medjai Guardians and taking the bells is surely the same person that is holding your wife against her will and we must safeguard those bells." 

He paused and glanced at Jonathan. 

"If someone assembles the pieces of the Sistrum and awakens the Power of Isis without the proper intent or direction, then Seth will awaken once more and take control of the Earth," he continued. "Nothing will be the same, do you see?" 

He followed the direction of O'Connell's gaze to find Jonathan staring out into nothing with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. 

"I need you to help me find a way to stop this," he said softly, feeling Jonathan's distress even from such a distance. "And I need you to tell me what Jonathan tried to do to himself." 

He watched the thoughts passing through O'Connell's blue eyes, the echo of thoughts, long ago, that had troubled him and knew what a battle it was – and what a thing to ask of a man with such love for his wife as O'Connell obviously felt for Evy. 

"All right," the American said at last, pressing a solid hand against his shoulder. "We find Evy by finding the person behind the attacks on the Guardians." 

"Thank you," he answered, grasping O'Connell's arm. 

"We'll go get our things," O'Connell said quietly. He nodded, and looked toward his own house for a second. He would need to explain to Ashna. 

"Jonathan," he called out to the Englishman as he turned to follow O'Connell to fetch their gear. Jonathan turned toward him and met his eyes. He saw fear there… no, more than fear… he saw dread. "I swear to you I will not let it happen. I will not let you suffer that again." 

Jonathan eyes filled with understanding at his words, before they closed and he let out a heartfelt sigh as he shoulders relaxed at the rush of relief.   



	12. To Do What We Must

Angel of the Heart Chapter 12 

He entered quietly. He wasn't sure how he would tell her that he was, after all, leaving before the end of the time that they should remain together, especially since he had told her that he would not. When she looked up, he knew that he did not need to say anything.

"I will pack for you the things you will need," she said, rising to her feet from the cushion on which she had been sitting beside the doctor.

"Ashna--" catching her arm, in spite of himself, Ardeth tried to find some words of apology.

"You are First Medjai, Ardeth, before any woman's husband. When your duty calls you, you must answer." She covered his hand as it curled around her arm. "We have had the luxury of more than two weeks of peace. Do not apologise for who you are."

As he looked down into her light brown eyes, at the sad sincerity he saw there, his heart turned a circle in his chest. In another time, or for another warrior, she would have made a loving match such as few enjoyed, but for him… He sighed softly, and tried not to give in to the guilt he felt; for the love he could not give to her, and for the love that this match kept from some imagined stranger that could have been hers but for him.

"I will return as soon as--"

"When the desert is safe once more," she interrupted, putting a hand to his lips to silence him. "Then we will be here to welcome you home."

He sighed, but took her hand, and kissed it gently.

"Insha'allah," he said softly and watched as she left the room to go and pack for him the few things he would take with him on his journey with the O'Connells. Only then did he feel the eyes of the other woman regarding him curiously.

"Matters have changed and I must leave," he told her, "You are to remain here with my wife until I can ensure your safe return to Esna and from there to Cairo."

"Now just wait a minute!" Doctor Hamlyn all but exploded and got to her feet, trying to navigate her way around the obviously unfamiliar clothing that Ashna must have given her to wear.

"No. No minutes, no waiting. You will do as I say or I will assign one of my warriors to guard you." He was not at all swayed by the spluttering objections that were coming from her lips, or by the sudden flush that spread over her face like fire through dry hay in a stable. "You are trespassing here and the Medjai do not take kindly to having strangers in their home so you would do well not to draw attention to yourself."

"You're threatening me." There was a note of incredulity in the doctor's voice. "I thought you said that the Medjai were honourable people."

"Do not think to question my honour, Doctor Hamlyn," Ardeth growled. "You will remain here with Ashna."

"The hell I will!" She headed straight for the doorway. Ardeth watched her tug the trailing fabric of the veil free of the rest of her clothes when she almost tripped on it.

"If you're taking my patient out there into danger," she waved her hand in the general direction of anywhere that was not inside the dwelling, "then as his doctor, I'm going with him."

"I think not," said Ardeth, and raising his voice slightly, called out a single word in Arabic to the man he knew was guarding the outside of the door.

"First Medjai?" the warrior entered the tent directly in Jennifer Hamlyn's path and she almost fell over backwards trying to avoid colliding with him. He came no further than into the doorway, effectively cutting off her escape.

"See to it that my wife's guest is comfortable and ensure her safety until my return," Ardeth instructed, knowing that the warrior would hear the things he had not said, and then he smiled, a brief, soft smile to Ashna who had returned with a bag she had packed for him.

"Aiwa, Sayiidi," the warrior gave a little bow, and then stepped further into the dwelling, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture that almost dared the now indignant doctor to try and pass him. With a sulky expression, she returned to sit down on the cushions near the table.

Satisfied, Ardeth asked Ashna. "Will you care for my son, while I am gone?"

She nodded. "Suhayl will be well in my care," she assured him.

"Thank you," Ardeth almost whispered, raising his hand to gently caress the softness of her cheek. "I am truly sorry that this has to be."

Ashna caught his hand and held it to her face. "I would not rest easy knowing that I had kept you from your sworn duty if you remained here."

Ardeth nodded his head in understanding, even more so when, looking into her eyes he thought he saw there a mixture of disappointment and relief. Gently he lowered his lips to hers in an almost tender farewell kiss.

"Allah keep you safe," she said to him a few moments later.

"May He keep _all_ of us safe," he echoed, fearing what he would find as he travelled once more in pursuit of the ancient and magical artefacts of Usert.

* * *

Still dusty from his early morning ride back across the desert, Rashid stood with the Englishman and the boy, watching as O'Connell prepared the things that they would take with them as the travelled with Ardeth.

His heart was a knot of worry. He did not like the fact that Ardeth would be riding off alone but for these two men and a barely grown boy. He did not like the rumblings that he knew would travel through the Council of Elders when they discovered that their errant First Medjai had once more broken with tradition; broken the mores and taboos of their people in leaving his new bride before the end of their three month _yiHaDDar hayat._

Marhana pulled against the bridal that Rashid held, tossing his head. He snorted and pawed at the ground with a hoof, knowing, evidently, that he was to carry his warrior and impatient to be away.

"Easy, my friend," Rashid soothed, running his hand over the sleek muscles of the horse's neck, "He will be here soon enough."

Marhana snorted and once again tossed his head, as much for the benefit, Rashid knew, of securing his place in the mind of the other stallion being led towards where they waited by the Horse Master of First Tribe.

Nazir nodded his head respectfully in greeting as he reached the others, with three more horses in tow.

"I thought to bring Sarii' as well as Asfaar and Hinefa," he said, nodding with his head to the grey-white stallion he held by the bridle. "The boy can ride Hinefa, and Asfaar should be tall enough for the Englishman."

Rashid nodded. He trusted Nazir's judgement when it came to selecting horses. He was the most skilled man with a horse in the living memory of the Medjai, as well as a good friend.

"Thank you, Nazir," he said softly.

Nazir nodded acknowledgement, before taking Jonathan and Alex aside with the horses they would ride, and helping them to become better acquainted, leaving Rashid once more alone with his worries until the door of the dwelling opened, and Ardeth, dressed for the desert, came towards him.

"Ardeth," he said, once his closest friend was beside him. "You should not go alone with these people."

He held up his hand to stop Ardeth from interrupting, speaking even before he had consciously decided to do so.

"I know they are your friends, and I trust them as you do, but if there truly is such trouble stirring in the desert, should you not have your Chosen, at least, beside you?"

Ardeth shook his head.

"If I did that it would only draw more attention to the fact that I am leaving," he said, "Besides, I would feel happier knowing that the warriors I trust are still here should… anything happen."

Rashid did not miss the slight hesitation in Ardeth's voice.

"Then at least let me--"

Again Ardeth shook his head and gripping his arm tightly said, "Rashid, I need you here. I need you to watch over Meiri, and I need to know that I can trust the leadership of the Tribe in my absence. You are Honoured Second. I want no other than you leading when I am not."

Rashid sighed knowing that Ardeth was right, but still reluctant was the hand that passed Marhana's bridal into his rider's hand.

"I will do as you ask," he said quietly.

Without another word between then, but a look that spoke more truth than could any word have done, Ardeth threw himself up into the saddle, then nodded to Rashid before turning the horse to face the others, who were also mounting, ready to ride.

"I do not know how well you ride," he said, mostly to Alex, "but we ride hard. Yallah!"

Rashid watched the cloud of dust and sand that was the wake of the four horsemen disappear into the depths of the shadowed canyon that led out into the heat of the open desert beyond.

* * *

Meiri woke to the sound of children playing and for a moment forgot where she was. It was a sound she had not heard in so long that it was almost startling. She opened her eyes, still heavy with sleep, and whatever medicine it was that Ghayda had given to her to help her to sleep, and looked across the cave to where Khalidah and Nabilah played together on the rug near the hearth.

Tears came to her eyes as she watched the older girl playing with her daughter; saw the smile on her daughter's face; a smile so rarely seen and she felt a terrible guilt that Khalidah had no playmate here in the exile that was their home. It was an exile that she had to endure, but that did not mean she must impose it on her daughter also.

When Ghayda's shadow fell over her bed, without looking at her, Meiri said, "When you return to Al-Kharga, I want you to take Khalidah with you. She should not have to suffer thi--"

"I will do no such thing," Ghayda snapped in return, "The girl needs her mother, and if Khalidah returns, then so should you."

"Ghayda, I can't. The tribe… the Elders--"

"Shetan take the Elders!" Ghayda swore. "They have done enough harm to you and your family."

Meiri finally looked up at Ghayda as the other woman sat down on the side of her bed and took her hands into her own. The movement of her head caused the gathered tears to spill over her cheeks. Ghayda wiped them away with the soft corner of her sleeve.

"Meiri, listen to me, and for once listen well," she began, "The Medjai have lived in the shadow of a curse the whole of their lives. It is why Mohammed can so easily convince them that the reasons for a downturn in the luck of our tribes are all due to your relationship with Ardeth. I do not believe for one moment that this is true. If it were true then you also would be subjected to the same curse. Ardeth would fail in his ventures, in his battles. They would not so swiftly seek to cause the niece of the commander Twelfth Tribe to be associated with--"

"They seek to displace me with Ashna, you _know_ that, Ghayda." Meiri shook her head. "I know why you speak, my sister, and I know that you seek to reassure me that to return is the right thing to do, but I cannot… I simply cannot. If I return, Mohammed would not waste more time trying to assure the tribe that I am evil. It is beyond that now. He would simply kill me."

"He would never dare--"

"He has once tried." Meiri looked up again and met the look of astonishment on Ghayda's face. She repeated quietly, "He has once tried."

"I had no idea…" Ghayda trailed off, and turned her head to follow the direction of Meiri's gaze as she herself turned once more to watch the children.

"Before Khalidah, there would have been another child," Meiri said softly, "but one day, as I was washing our things, alone at the Rockside, someone… a man… attacked me. I was beaten… he tried to drown me. In the end I think he was disturbed. I do not remember clearly even now. All I remember is that afterwards, the shock of it and the injuries…"

She trailed off with a sigh.

"You lost the child that you were carrying," Ghayda finished.

"The healers tried to do all they could. Ardeth even sent personally for his cousin, Ayesha, because he did not trust that their efforts were tempered by the word of certain Elders that were telling him that it was for the best," she bit her lip before she continued, "But even she could do nothing to save the baby… only to save me."

"How do you know it was Mohammed?"

"He came to me, as I was recovering," she said, letting her eyes unfocus as she remembered, "as the representative of the Elders to tell me how sorry they all were; how sorry _he_ was…"

"_The healer told me that I could stay only a few moments."_

_She opened her eyes at the sound of the voice; looked up at the hawk nosed, wrinkle eyed visage of the aging warrior as he settled himself against the cushions beside her bed. One of the Elders… she struggled to remember his name as she fought an equally brave struggle to try and sit up a little._

_He pressed a hand against her shoulder, "Please do not trouble yourself," he said._

"_Honoured Elder," she fell back against the cushions, the pain in her belly and her back simply too much to allow her to move._

"_Be at peace, Sayiida," he withdrew his hand slowly, "I merely came to say…"_

_But she had stopped hearing his words, for there, on the back of his hand, she saw the remains of a barely healed scratch. One of the few things she remembered about the attack was that she had scratched the hand of the one that held her as he had tried to silence her screa—_

There was no warning, as the memory melted away…

_Screaming… and the sound of bells… always bells, bells… bells._

"_Har ya, Suti… ya tsoo ahi, har ya…" A voice, low, authoritative, summoning and thunder… thunder over the desert._

"_Mine…" words whispered around her almost as though they had form, like serpents, "He must be mine. Give him to me… give him to me now!"_

_Blood… a drop of blood falling, falling to stain white linen and a cry of pain… the bloodied head of child between risen thighs… being born… a dark head of curls._

"_Are you tired…?" she asked, running her fingers down his back and feeling the way he pulled her against him more firmly turning her in his arms and running his hands down the front of her body, to find her sex and tease her there. She moaned and leaned against him._

"_See for me," he commanded dragging the heel of his palm over her sensitivity as she parted her legs in need of his touch… "I must find it. I must have it…"_

"_My love… my heart… you know, you understand…" The woman astride his naked body breathed the words against his neck between hot kisses. One of his hands buried itself in her long brown hair, while the other wrapped around her waist._

"_They are coming for you…"the voice hissed, for once speaking directly to her in the vision, "Run, my sister… Run!"_

"No," she breathed.

_He lay face down, head turned to one side, his eyes half closed, glazed… lifeless… blood running from a deep gash on the side of his temple… the bells sounded again… and even as she reached for him… to run her fingers one last time through his hair, he faded beyond her reach…_

_She stood on the edge of the water, crying out for the one she loved. There was, arguing… a scuffle and the blade of a knife came toward her, and she with nowhere to go…_

"_They are coming for you…"the voice hissed, "Run, my sister… Run!"_

…_a blur of movement beside her… a hand that landed against her chest, pushing her backwards… a stifled cry… she tried to support the woman… her eyes met light brown orbs in which the light of life was already leaving…_

"_Run, my sister…"_

* * *

Wind blew across the sparse grass beside the mere puddle of water that was the oasis of their destination. Ardeth told him that the guardian of the third bell had made his home in the ramshackle hut that stood on the packed sand beside the water.

The wind blew again and the door of the hut rattled against its frame.

"That doesn't sound so good," Rick said in a low voice.

"No, my friend," Ardeth narrowed his eyes as they watched the door swing open and shut again, "it does not."

The four riders dismounted, and Rick tossed Sarii''s reins to Jonathan.

"Alex," Ardeth began, handing Marhana's reins to the boy.

"…Stay here," Rick finished.

"But Dad!" Alex protested.

"I said stay here," he repeated. He, as Ardeth obviously did, feared what they might find inside the hut and had no wish to expose Alex to the kind of thing he imagined.

"Your father is right, young man," his friend spoke quietly to Alex. "We need you to stay here and take care of the horses."

"Oh I get it," Alex sighed, "Protect the car…"

Ardeth shook his head, "There are some things, even though you are almost a man, that there is no need to hurry in seeing, or in doing. Obey your father's command and mine. Stay with the horse."

With another impatient sigh, Alex turned away and started running his hand over the horse's flank.

"Cheer up, partner," Jonathan said, with obvious false cheer, "You still have me."

Alex gave an almost-smile, "Right, Uncle Jon," he said.

Finally satisfied that his son would not come rushing in after them Rick pulled a gun from its holster, and looked across to where Ardeth had unslung and cocked his rifle. The Medjai nodded, and cautiously began to make his way toward the hut.

Rick watched his back, even as he knew that Ardeth would be protecting him, and before long he and Ardeth were flattened against the hut on either side of the doorway. Their eyes met, and then Ardeth nodded again.

They moved as one. As fast as a striking snake, Ardeth kicked hard against the door and he and Rick surged inside, rifle and gun ready, aimed at some imaginary danger, for bullets were no use against the terrible smell, which was the only thing that threatened either one of them at that moment.

Rick screwed up his face, and covered his nose and mouth with the back of his hand, watching as Ardeth approached the body of the Medjai that lay face up, eyes open, his face contorted in an expression of confused horror.

"Ramid," Ardeth sighed, closing the eyes of the dead Medjai as he whispered soft prayers to Allah.

Braving the smell, Rick came to crouch beside his warrior friend and placed a supportive hand onto Ardeth's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"The bell has been taken," Ardeth confirmed, pulling the broken leather thong from around the dead man's neck.

* * *

"Meiri…"

Meiri gasped, suddenly coming back to herself, breathing hard, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart and banish the wild, almost terrified look from her eyes.

"I'm all right," she said breathlessly.

"Meiri," Ghayda repeated in a tone that said she did not believe a word of it.

"I'm all right," Meiri said, more firmly this time. "It's all right."

"What did you see?"

"Nothing, nothing, I just," Meiri closed her eyes, so that Ghayda would not see the lie she was about to tell, "got lost in the memory, that's all."

Her mind raced, remembering the last image she had seen reflected in the dying woman's eyes. The chest… there in the corner of the cave… the one that held the cradle from the Sistrum of Isis, she had seen it standing open. Open, and empty.

Opening her eyes, she could not help but turn her head so that she could see that it was closed. It was, but that held little comfort for her. The voice had said that they were coming for her… but she knew otherwise. Not for her, not this time. If they were coming for anything, they were coming for the artifact and finally she knew what she had to do.

There would be no way for her to keep the cradle safe by herself… not even with Ghayda's help. She had to take it to Ardeth. Only then it would be safe.

With a deep sigh, she turned to Ghayda and gave her the brightest smile that she could manage.

"I'm sorry. It was just difficult. I didn't realize how much it hurt," she said.

"Of course it hurts." Ghayda took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "It was your child, made by your love."

Meiri looked into her face and knew that she understood as only one who had suffered the same loss could. She squeezed the other woman's hand in return.

"You and Rashid will have another child, do not fear," she said.

"Insha'allah," Ghayda said the word almost as a charm against something happening. "We are already trying."

Meiri smiled. "Well then I should not keep you here, away from your love and caring for me. I am well, Ghayda, honestly. You should return to Al-Kharga, and to Rashid."

Ghayda shook her head. "I do not mind staying here with you, Meiri. You need the company, and until I am sure that you _and _your baby are going to be all right, I am not going to leave you. Rashid came to me last night, and he can do so again."

"He was here?" Meiri frowned. "I did not hear him."

Ghayda blushed a little.

"We took his tent and were together outside. We did not wish to disturb you with… anything of ourselves," she said sheepishly, "Besides which, the medicine I gave to you would have given a sleep so deep that we probably need not have gone outside at all."

Meiri chuckled a little at Ghayda's embarrassment, but her mind was suddenly racing with the only possibility that she could think of and the hope that her friend would understand that she _had_ to keep cradle safe.

* * *

Not since she was a child had see felt this wretched and sobbed as hard as she did now.

Somehow there was blood covering her hands and her arms; it had sprayed against the clothes she wore and filled her nostrils with its metallic scent. She felt sick to her stomach but she could not bring up anything more than bile.

She couldn't even remember the last time she had eaten. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she could remember anything of herself.

Anguished and aching, she started to lift herself from where she had curled into a fetal ball, heaving at a heavy shape that pinned the bottom corner of her skirt and preventing her from moving too far.

When she turned her head to see what it was that so held her in place, Evelyn O'Connell screamed.

* * *

Miranda did not hear the almost silent pad of his footsteps until he was right behind her. She turned and then bowed low before the resurrected ancient High Priest of Osiris.

"Lord Imhotep," she greeted him reverently.

For a long time he did not say anything, just stood regarding her silently. There was a superior half smile that graced his face as his eyes moved to capture hers. His smile faded as his eyes bored into her, reading, she thought, her very soul and held her immobile even against her fear of him. Finally he reached out and with oh-so-delicate a touch, barely stirred the edge of her hair.

"Poor Miranda," he said, "still does not feel clean."

"My lord--" she started.

"So cruelly given to the one that found us… sacred receptacle for so foul a seed." He reached out then and drew her closer, taking her by the shoulders and bringing her step by halting step into the circle of his arms. "Priestesses of my Nebkhat should not so lightly be dishonored."

Miranda shivered, she couldn't help it… hearing him speak in such a tone; thinking he had mistaken her for the devil child… it occurred to her that he needed rest.

"Are you tired…?" she asked, but something in her… in him had her circle him with her arms none the less. She ran her fingers lightly down his muscled back, even so still wondering what she was thinking.

He pulled her against him more firmly, that same superior smile on his face. It was that smile she remembered as he turned her around, turning her to face the mirror, and running his hands down the front of her body.

In the next moment his lips were beside her ear, whispering seductively, his breath sending a fire right through her to where his hand now pressed against where her legs and body met…

"See for me, Miranda." He urged her, finding her sex when she moved her feet to make it easier for him to do so; teasing her there.

She moaned and leaned against him, surrendering to his power, to his virility as he whispered again.

"See for me," he commanded dragging the heel of his palm over her sensitivity as she parted her legs further, in need of his touch. "I must find it. I must have it…"

She barely registered the touch of his fingers that grasped her chin and turned her face to bring her fluttering eyes to the Mirror of Nephthys.

Her breathing came faster as the power in the mirror spiraled out to meet the heat of his touch and consumed by the darkness they created in the centre of her, she cried out, coming apart as the visions he sought overwhelmed her.

"What do you see?"

"A woman… a woman and a child…" she spoke as the murmur of dark waters in the depths of night.

"Forget the woman," his voice urged her, "Look further. Look for the power of Usert. Tell me where to find the Cradle."

"There is a chest, within a cave, hidden deep in the desert, a cleft in the rocks… between the Great Kharga Oasis and The City of the Dead. There is the woman… she guards it."

The touch left her body then, and he turned her away from the mirror. Released from its power, she staggered, reaching out weakly to him for support. For a moment he held her, gave that support as their eyes met and then, as her legs refused to hold her a moment longer, he let her down.

She clutched at him desperately, her fingers sliding down his arms, in his hands as he lowered her to the cold stone of the dais, where she came to rest, deflated, like some oversized rag doll, terrified and spent.

He turned away from her then, and for the first time she registered the others in the room. Had they been there the whole of the time? Witnessed _everything?_ The thought made her feel even more dizzy and sick than she already did, and almost dying from the shame of the thought, she managed to raise her head enough to see Ananiah and the others of her own women all still on their knees before the power of this risen god.

"We must go to this place," Imhotep told them. "We must complete the Sistrum of Usert."

"Of course, My Lord, but--" Ananiah argued, but Imhotep silenced him with a raised hand.

"It must _be_," he said chillingly. "See to it that they are there before morning."

* * *

Evy's fingers were cracked and bleeding from digging in the sand. Still she sobbed and wiped a bloody hand across her face to try and clear the tears enough that she could see what she was doing.

He had been such a kind and gentle man.

Once again, as she had periodically throughout the day she threw herself against the dead Medjai, grabbed the edges of his robes and tried to shake him, to wake him from the sleep of the dead. And he so cruelly slain…

"Latif…!" remembering his name, she cried for him… for what had been done to him…

_What _you_ did to him…_

"No!" she raised her head from Latif's chest, "You're _lying!_"

She looked around; searching for the speaker, for the one whose voice was her constant companion in the hot, miserable journey.

"Lying!" she cried out again.

_Poor little mother… cannot even remember…_

"No… stop it!" she ran her hands into her hair and dragging herself to her feet, turned full circle, searching again for the speaker that tormented her.

…_but she wants her daughter… wants to bring her back…_

Evy moaned, "My baby…" and pressed her hands against her belly, strands of hair still caught in her fingers as she pulled it from her scalp. She did not feel the pain of it. Only the empty ache of the loss that had smothered her since her daughter's birth… and death only moment's later.

_Yes… your child…_

The voice she heard softened. It came from right behind her, and she turned quickly to try and catch the speaker… only sand blew across the ground where her eyes still searched.

_You needed them… the bells… need them all. Then we can do it… Only then…_

"And he wouldn't give it to me," she moaned. "None of them would. I had to take it. I had to take them all…"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small bundle, sinking to her knees as she unwrapped the bloodstained kerchief from around the four shining gold bells.

"There aren't enough…" she whimpered, childlike, into the desert air that was cooling toward evening.

_No._

"I have to find the others, I need them, I--"

_You must keep them safe… keep them close. Someone could come; could take them from you…_

"I can't carry them like this," she said, her voice an echo of the ghostly whisper inside of her, "it isn't safe. Someone might come; might try to take them…"

A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she reached inside the filthy ruins of her shirt to draw out an amulet that hung on a leather thong around her neck.

"I'll do it like before," she said excitedly, her eyes lighting up as if it were the best idea she had ever had. "Like when Ardet--"

_No! You must not speak his name! You must not think of him now._

"But he's my friend," she said in protest. "He would understand, Ardeth would."

* * *

A chill wind blew across the space where the four men now made their camp. For a moment the fire flickered and dwindled. Jonathan moaned and Ardeth looked up.

"What is it?" Alex asked, almost fearfully, but too excited to be truly afraid.

"It's all right, Jonathan," O'Connell said firmly, "It's just the wind."

"But it is an ill wind, my friend," Ardeth said softly, "that blows across the SaHra in the wake of such things as we have seen."

"Um, Ardeth old buddy," O'Connell fixed him with a pointed look. "You're not helping."

He cast a glance toward Jonathan, who had curled himself into as small a ball as he could manage against the saddle he was using to lean against. Soundlessly, Ardeth rose to his feet. He needed to think; to decide what the best and safest course was for his friend. He did not truly want to have to fulfill the silent promise he had made to the Englishman.

"Hey," O'Connell sounded confused, "Where you going?"

_He would understand, Ardeth would…_

His head snapped up, the words cutting off the reply he would have given; that he was going to the edge of the camp, to think.

Instinct had him staring at the sand around them… and it was this that led him to the terrified expression on Jonathan's face, and he knew without any doubt, that he too had heard the whisper from the sands.

Absently, he raised his fingers to touch the new Eye of Horus that hung around his neck…

* * *

She untied the knot that held the leather into a circle to hang around her neck. For a moment she thought about taking off the amulet from the leather. Her fingers hesitated, and then brushed over the metal of the talisman that her friend had given to her.

_He let go of her hand then, and reached up for one of the charms around own neck. Unfastening the knot, he took back the bell and threaded it onto the leather thong along with the charm through the small hole in the centre of the bell. Then he refastened the knot and slipped it carefully over Evelyn's head, teasing her hair from beneath the leather while she slipped the bell into the front of her blouse._

Carefully, one by one, she picked up the bells and threaded them onto the leather thong, two either side of the talisman that Ardeth had given to her.

One by one, their voices sounded into the gathering gloom of the Sahara dusk, filling the air with the static crackle of their power.

Evelyn moaned as her head started to swim again… as the inky blackness she had wallowed in began to seep into her from the soles of her feet, rising to cover her, to smother her…

"Yes…" she breathed, the word coming out of her as a long breath, "Let the sound of Her power awaken the night…"

She held them for a long time, swinging on the leather, sounding again and again into the dusk, and then into the night…

When she slipped the cabal over her head to nestle once more, vipers at her breast; when she rose woodenly to her feet and started off once more into the desert toward her next destination, both the dead Medjai and her remorse were long forgotten.

* * *

Ghayda smiled broadly at the sound of Meiri's light laugh and at the equally bright smile on the other woman's face. It was long past time. There was nothing like kind companionship to bring comfort to the suffering.

"Let me get you some more food," she gestured for Meiri to give her the empty dish, happy also, that Meiri was eating so well.

Meiri shook her head, but said, "More water perhaps would be nice, but I do not think I could eat another thing."

"Are you sure you won't share the rest of the coffee with me at least?" Ghayda took the empty bowl and the cup from Meiri so that she might bring her whatever refreshment she might ask.

Again Meiri shook her head. "I cannot drink coffee since I got with child. The taste of it makes me sick."

She nodded knowingly. She had been the same herself when she had carried Nabilah. It had irritated her to no end, as she enjoyed her coffee very much.

She was half way across the room to the cooking fire when the first wave of it hit her. It felt as though she had been trying to stay awake for days. Her legs felt suddenly like lead and weak at the same time, her arms felt as though she had them wrapped in cotton, and should could hardly feel her hands, or the things she held in them.

She stumbled, dropping the wooden bowl, which clattered against the stone of the floor. Half turning, she looked toward Meiri, a hand outstretched, half comprehending what must have happened, wondering what that was with the rest of her foggy mind.

"No, Meiri," she said as she watched the other woman throwing back the cover from her legs and starting to get out of bed, to come to her. "I'm all right. Just tired, it'll pass in a minute."

Her eyelids drooped and when she forced them to open again, Meiri was at her side. But how could she have moved so quickly? It hadn't been but a moment…

"I think you should lie down, Ghayda," Meiri said softly, "You've exhausted yourself caring for me,"

She let Meiri support her around the waist, and with her own arm draped over the other woman's shoulder, tried hard to make it to the bed at the side of the cave. She knew she shouldn't put her weight onto Meiri, and yet at the same time her own legs would not support her. They buckled, and she felt Meiri lower her to the ground.

"Forgive me, Ghayda," she heard vaguely as her eyes closed. "It's better this way…"

* * *

She couldn't believe her luck.

She had been following them all day, and all day long her luck had held. They had been too engrossed in what they were doing to notice the lone horse following their trail just as the Warrior patrol she had hidden amongst had been too focused on their duty to notice their number swelled by one small warrior in oversized robes, who dropped slowly behind and then disappeared altogether.

She did feel one small pang of guilt, though, for the way she had deserted Ashna, a woman that had shown her nothing but kindness, and whom she had left, weeping, on the pretext of finding someone who could understand her distress.

_It was like watching the film of a rose wilting at too fast a speed._

_The young Medjai woman stood in the middle of the home that was presumably her own, saying farewell to her warrior husband, yet as the door closed, and the sound of the horse's hooves faded into the relative bustling silence of the Oasis outside of the door, she turned and almost literally sank beside the table, her head hidden in the crook of her arm._

_It took Jenny more than a moment or two to realize that she was crying. Awkwardly, she got up and came to kneel beside the distressed young woman, patting her shoulder, meaning to be comforting._

"_There, there," she said softly. "You need not worry for him. He's a capable man. I'm _sure_ he will be back soon, safe and sound. You'll see."_

_She tried to sound as reassuring as she could. She remembered from before, that the woman, Ashna, did not speak much English._

"_Mish'aawiz il-miggawwiz da," she wept, "Mish'aawiz il-haya di!"_

"_I'm sorry… I don't understand I…" she paused, once more trying to comfort the young woman, this time with an arm around her shoulders. "Oh dear…"_

_The young woman did not move, just kept sobbing, and speaking words that, even if Jenny had understood Arabic, she doubted she would have been able to make out much sense._

"_Let me… why don't I go and see if I can find…" she started to rise, mumbling under her breath the rest of the sentence, "…someone that can help you; can understand you at least."_

She had meant to find someone… but when she got outside, with no one around but a patrol getting ready to ride out into the desert… horses, and robes… robes hanging to dry in the Egyptian sun.

A breath of wind stirred her hair against her face, and for a moment she regretted that she had discarded the robes as soon as she was able. The once more turned her attention to her objective.

They had made their camp for the night. It was just beyond the rise in the sand before her. All she had to do was sneak in and, while they slept, wait it out until morning. They couldn't send her back, their mission was too urgent for them to _take _her back. They would have to accept that she was coming with them. Slowly she started to make her way up the side of the dune…

The sand above her exploded, rising to make a talk dark figure against the speckled blackness of the night sky, and she found herself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

"Don't shoot!" she screamed, backpedaling and tumbling all the way back to the bottom if the dune. The figure followed her spitting words in Arabic in her direction that she was sure were not polite.

At the foot of the rise he grabbed her hands and hauled her, less than gently, to her feet, still muttering angrily at her.

"Well _really!_" she protested, brushing herself down once she had freed her hands from his crushing grasp. "There's no need for language like that!"

"What… Are you _doing_ here?" he demanded, not a tiny bit less angry, from the tone in his voice.

"Following you, that's what!" she spat back, refusing to back down. "I told you--"

"And I told _you,_" he pointed a finger in her direction, "that you were to stay in Al-Kharga with my wife."

"I told _you,_" she slapped his finger aside, "that Mister Carnahan was my patient and--"

Without a warning he grabbed the hand she had used to slap him and bending down, had lifted her across his shoulder. She screamed, and beat at his shoulder.

"Hey! What do you think you're-- Put me down this instant!"

Far from putting her down, he turned and set off up the rise, and down the other side, before she found herself dumped, rather unceremoniously, spluttering objections, in front of their central camp fire.

"You bastard!" she spat, rubbing the bruise on her wrist, trying to ease the pain of being dropped, and the embarrassment of being in such a position in front of the others, whom her indignant shouting had woken.

He ignored the insult. Instead he built up the fire and angrily tossed a thick blanket in her direction and then stalked off in the direction of the dune from which they had come.

The boy, Alex, was the first to break the silence.

"Whoa, Ardeth!" he said.

"Hey," the American clipped his son around the ear, "that's Mister Bay to you."

Then to her he said, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"As I told Mister Bay," she tried to regain at least some of her dignity, holding the still folded blanket in her lap, "Your brother-in-law is my patient and where he goes. I go."

"Stupid interfering--" he muttered, turning away.

"I beg your pardon?" she demanded, prepared to go on and not really expecting him to go on.

"I said you were stupid." He turned back to her and fixed her with a disbelieving expression. "You really don't understand what you're getting yourself into."

He would have gone on, she was sure of it from the expression on his face, only the Medjai leader interrupted, returning from the top of the dune.

"Where is the horse you stole to get here?" he demanded.

"Stole? I did not _steal_ I borro--"

The sound of a rifle being cocked split the night air and a second later, the angered Medjai asked again, "Where is the horse?" and pointed the gun right at her.

O'Connell jumped as the warrior raised and readied his gun, coming to her rescue a moment later he pressed against the barrel of the gun until it was lowered.

"I think you made him mad," he said to her, more than a little sarcastically, "You better tell him what he wants to know."

"It's… It's out there," she waved a shaking hand in the direction of the desert. "There are some rocks, I left it there, I--"

"From now on," Ardeth Bay told her in a low and dangerous tone of voice, "you do exactly and only as I say, you understand?"

She could only nod mutely in answer, as with a brief word to his friend, Ardeth once again saddled his own horse, and rode off to go and bring the animal she had ridden to their camp.

* * *

She opened the chest almost reverently… fearfully and reached within for the wrapped object that was the only thing that lay in the chest. It was wrapped in dark blue cloth at the bottom of the chest and lifting it into her hands she felt her entire being tingle with the residue of its power.

She unwrapped the cloth cover, and let her fingers trace over the golden wings that made its shape curving around, covered with perfect, tiny characters that made its words of power.

_I come to you hewn in pieces. Lament Oh Egypt for he is lost to me._

She tried to contain the tears that rose in her on the echo of the words in her mind. He was as lost to her now as he had ever been.

"Lament, Oh Egypt, for he is lost to me," she whispered, her fingers trailing over the shape of the curving wings once more.

_Lament… Oh Egypt…_

She started as the voice turned cold, and shook her head violently, rapidly folding the fabric around the cradle of Usert's sistrum. She could not afford a vision now. She hadn't the strength, the time… She had to get the cradle to Ardeth, and she had to go now.

Pushing the covered piece of the artifact into the top of her dress, she crossed the room again to check that Ghayda was still sleeping… not that she expected otherwise, with the amount of the sedative she had put into the coffee.

"Please understand," she whispered, "I had to do this… you would never have let me go."

She brushed back the other woman's hair, and then tucked the covers around her shoulders, and around her sleeping daughter, Nabilah. She would have taken both children with her if she thought she could control the horse with a baby and a young girl riding with her, but as it was, it was a risk just taking Khalidah.

She shook her head, and turning to the other small bed, bent down and picked up Khalidah, and returned to the outer cave, where already she had saddled the horse.

With a final look back at the place that was both a home and a prison in her sad and lonely existence, she led the horse out onto the plateau, where she mounted, ignoring the sharp pain in her belly. She held her daughter tightly against her, and set as fast as pace as she could back toward Al-Kharga.


	13. I Will Be Alone

Angel of the Heart Chapter 13 

It was an exhaustion that she never thought could feel that seeped through Miranda's bones. Everything she did seemed to take an eternity of effort and not for the first time, she wondered what had ever possessed her to become involved with a man such as Roche.

Granted, when she had met him it had been almost a rescue he offered her, from an abusive husband, and even worse treatment at the hands of her husband's family, but as morning darkened toward dawn she began to wonder if she would not have fared better on the streets of Cairo. Even among the Lost of il-Qahira there was more hope than she now felt.

She leaned heavily against one of the pillars at the back of the Temple's main hall, watching them all, Ananiah, the demon-child Nebkhat, and the Priest-God Imhotep as they stared into the mirror, watching as their plot was unfolding before them.

_What did I do that was so wrong?_ She sighed, feeling the eight others priestesses, women that answered to her approaching from behind. She couldn't help but wonder how many of those women had been 'rescued' as had she.

"Perhaps I acted rashly in believing him, that I could be the one..." she murmured, her eyes still watching the backs of those gathered around the Mirror of Nephthys.

"Lady?" one of her women enquired softly.

"I fear that Ananiah does not see all there is to see of his new friend and ally," she answered. "I do not think that it is safe for us here any longer."

As she spoke, Imhotep turned his head and met her gaze, expressionless, but for his eyes, that seemed to speak to her.

_Yes… yes, my lady. Tell them what you have seen._

"Did you have a vision, Lady," another of her fellow Nephthian Priestesses asked.

She started to shake her head, but then stopped. Was it a vision? More perhaps she felt that Imhotep had let her see the things that she had seen in his eyes as a warning, a warning or a challenge.

"No," she said at last, "just a feeling. The time is coming when we must all choose on what side we will stand. He intends far more, I think, than Ananiah ever dreamed. In that there is danger for us… for all who have played a role in this madness that Ananiah weaves."

She turned then to face her ladies, looking into the eyes of each of them, trying to guess where lay their loyalties… their hopes and their dreams.

"Be ready, all of you," she said, before she turned again, and led them all into the temple, to the foot of the steps where, as one, they lowered themselves to their knees, and then prostrated themselves on the temple floor.

Even as she did, she wondered if she had the strength, herself, to act when the time came… to save herself.

* * *

Meiri eased the horse to a halt, and carefully dismounted. She had to lean against the animal to catch her breath, to give her body a chance to settle, to adjust to a change in the motion between riding and walking. Walking was all that she thought she could manage, no matter the urgency that had moved her to act at all.

Held against her body by the cloth that tied her against her belly, Khalidah stirred sleepily. The movement had jolted her to semi-wakefulness, and she grumbled a little. Meiri hushed her, and for a little time rocked her gently in the cloth cradle until she calmed. It would not do for Khalidah to be crying. Meiri was trying to get them into Al-Kharga unseen.

She tethered the horse to the trunk of a sturdy bush and scanned the rock face before her. There was a path, she knew, somewhere, but trying to find it in the darkness would be no easy task. It was the only choice she had for she could not simply walk into Al-Kharga through the _Heta_. The main passage between the rocks that was the entrance to the oasis was guarded day and night by Medjai warriors defending their home, and while she did not _think_ that they would harm her, if she was caught, she would be taken, not to Ardeth, but to the Elders and then her journey would have been in vain. They would not disturb Ardeth, not during the first twelve weeks of his marriage, and especially not for a matter that _they_ would consider not of Medjai concern.

She sighed again and pushed herself between two of the bushes, shielding Khalidah from scrapes as she approached the barely visible, and hardly more passable pathway. She knew the pathway led into a narrow valley that was almost an offshoot of the Al-Kharga Oasis. It was in this valley that generation of fallen Medjai of First Tribe and their families were laid to rest. From _Wadi RaHa, _as the valley was called, she could get into the Oasis home of the Medjai by way of the steep winding steps they had cut over the rocks that separated the two.

"Almost there, little one," she murmured to the child she cradled against her as she began to half climb, half scramble up the narrow hidden pathway.

Carefully, three lives at stake, she moved up the edifice of rock. Her fingers searched out places they might anchor her, even as her feet slipped and slid beneath her as she pushed on upwards.

She winced, stifling a cry as a fingernail tore. Sound carried in the desert nights and it would do her little good if her clandestine entry to the oasis were discovered. Turning her back against the rocks to give her a more secure perch for a moment, she sucked on her finger, taking the time to catch her breath and push back the wave of tired emotion that was rising to cover her. Emotion, she knew from experience could trigger vision, and if she were to suddenly slip into a trance and suffer all that those vision brought to her here, half way up the rock face, there was a good chance she would fall.

She tried very hard not to think on what she might see once she found the home that Ardeth had made with Ashna, but even as she pushed away the imagined sight, it swam before her eyes, clearer than it had ever been in her visions.

_He moved over her and her painted hands came to rest hesitantly hovering over the seven rayed star between his shoulders._

Moaning softly, she pulled her hand away from her mouth and turned back to the rocky pathway, pushing on once more, climbing hand over hand, and foot over foot.

An eternity of climbing ended abruptly, dizzied and aching she pushed through the narrow fissure into the head of the valley beyond and for a moment she lay back, panting against the rocks.

Getting down to the valley floor would be easier. She could stay as she was and slide carefully down on her behind. The dress she wore did not matter. If it became torn or dusty, it was no loss. She could borrow something of Ashna's if it were ruined. All that mattered was that she take the Cradle to Ardeth… Somehow.

When she had caught her breath she began her descent, murmuring soothingly to Khalidah as she went.

"Hush little one, we'll soon be there… you'll be with Baba soon," her voice cracked a little. _And I will be alone._

* * *

Ashna sighed softly, and turned over in her bed. She was dreaming. It was a dream she had not had since she was a child, but one that had always before brought her excitement, comfort even, but now it brought her only restlessness and sorrow.

_It was dusk… and still she was beside the oasis, folding her clothes that had dried in the hot sun of the day. Her sister was home with their parents, she was alone and enjoying her time to herself._

"_It is getting late," a soft voice spoke from nearby, and a shadow fell across the sand in the fading light. "Should you not be getting home to your family?"_

_She turned then to see the warrior, who was holding the reins of a horse that shone white in the gathering dusk. He smiled at her kindly, showing he was teasing, showing he meant no harm to her._

She turned over again… the warrior was faded, somehow, less tangible in her dream, as though her real life was somehow erasing from her mind, the fantasy of childhood, of a man whom she could love, and who would love her. As though the life she had hoped for all her young life was dying… fading away…

"_I still have work to do." she told him._

The playful tone from every time she had dreamed this before was gone too, replaced by a tired, sad resignation, but still as he always did, the man in her dream came to take the shirt she was folding from her hands and put it onto the pile of clothes. She couldn't help looking at the pile as he did. Gone were the bright colored dresses. The pile of clothes was full of warrior's robes.

"_You work too hard. I have been watching as you work."_

"_Watching me?" she asked, surprised._

"_Of course," he told her, behaving equally as surprised. "You are beautiful."_

She moaned softly, the voice of the man in her dream sounded suddenly like Ardeth had, as he had told her she was beautiful, and not the musical voice of the man of whom she had always dreamed. Tears leaked out of her closed eyes, childhood's end indeed… a married woman with all the faded dreams of her young life.

"_Would you like to take a ride?"_

"_I have no horse," she countered, moving just a little away as he moved towards her._

"_Nahar has the strength for two," he said, taking a larger step forward and catching her hand just as she would have tripped on a rock set into the sand._

_Unbalanced a little, she came to lean against him, her hand flat against the muscular plain of his chest. She lowered her head beside it for just a second, until his fingers tilted up her face so that their eyes would meet. Grey… his eyes were grey, like the eyes of a storm..._

She sobbed a little in her sleep…

"Don't go," she wept, "Don't leave me."

* * *

It had not been hard to locate the tent where Ardeth and Ashna made their home. Slipping from dwelling to dwelling in the cover of a deep night she had found the tent and then in the shadow of another had pulled up her outer robes, looking like a healer in the darkness and trusting that this would give her access to the tent, she stepped out into the starlight and approached.

"What is your business here?" the house guard asked. She noticed that it was Asif, one of Ardeth's chosen, and began to fear that there had been some kind of trouble that Ardeth and Ashna should need to be so guarded.

"I am sent for," she answered, trying to disguise her voice, "I was long in coming, for which I ask forgiveness, but the wife of the First Medjai is feeling unwell and I must attend her."

Asif tilted his head to one side, and for a moment Meiri feared she had been uncovered, but a moment later he nodded and turned to hold open the doorway for her.

"It is I should ask your forgiveness, Healer," he said quietly.

"Thank you," she answered, stepping into the tent.

She waited until the doorway was closed behind her before she took down the covering of her traveling robes and stood listening for any sound that might warn her of what she should expect. But all was quiet.

She took the time to unwrap the sling from around her body and take a sleepy Khalidah into her arms.

"Here is home," she whispered, "Let's find you a bed so that you might sleep in peace until morning."

A small sound murmured against her heart, but not from Khalidah. It came from another room. It was a sound she had not heard in years, but one which she would know anywhere and forever. It was the sleepy moan of her first born child.

Her whole body responded; her stomach and womb tightening and her heart leaping at the tiny moan. Without conscious thought, her feet carried her in the direction of the sound and she entered the room of her sleeping son.

"Suhayl," she said softly as she knelt beside his bed.

"Ume," he whimpered, as though he heard her.

It was all that she could stand, so, putting down Khalidah, who rolled into a sleepy ball on the soft bed, she reached down and picked up Suhayl, to cradle him in her arms, against her breast, running her fingers through his hair and rocking him gently. Tears spilled from her eyes as she rocked her son, whispering to him softly of a mothers love; in the way only a mother could. His little arms slipped around her shoulders and held to her as tightly as she held him.

"I love you, my son. Never doubt it. Do not ever believe that I do not," she wept, "and your Baba too. Whatever we have to face now, or in the future, remember that we both love you, and that I love you both."

She was exhausted and holding her son, dozed a little, breathing in the clean innocent scent of him and letting it soothe her once he had quieted from whatever had disturbed his sleep. It was another sound… another voice that woke her.

"Don't go. Don't leave me."

She thought she heard the sound of a sob on the end of the words, and frowned as she came awake once more. She kissed Suhayl's forehead softly, and put him back into his bed, putting Khalidah beside him and covering them both with the blankets and then she rose a little unsteadily to her feet and went in search of the sound she had heard.

For a long time she stood outside the doorway, listening for the voice that she knew must come in the wake of the words that she had heard Ashna speak as she cried. He slept lightly, she knew, and the sound of her distress must surely have woken him, but after several long moments no answer came from Ardeth. Meiri frowned and without thinking, for if she had thought about anything she might see then she would not have had the courage to go in, she held open the fabric doorway and entered the bedroom that Ardeth and Ashna shared.

What she saw there stopped her colder than anything she could have seen. Ashna was alone. Alone and weeping…

"Ashna," she called softly, going to the woman's side and running her hands gently over her hair. "Ashna, hush… it is only a dream… just a dream."

"…Just a dream…"

Another sob burst from her in the wake of those words… but after a moment longer, the though that another person spoke to her, and that she was not dreaming that other voice woke her with a start. She would have cried out but for the fingers that were suddenly at her lips.

"Ssshh, Ashna, you are safe," the voice said. It was somehow familiar.

"Meiri?" she sat up, very confused, and automatically wiped her eyes dry on the sleeve of her nightgown.

"Yes," Meiri answered, "Ashna, what's going on? Why are you crying and where is Ardeth?"

"The American man, O'Connell, he came to ask for Ardeth's help." She told her, ignoring the other question.

"He _left_ you?" Meiri asked sounding both surprised and deeply worried at something that could warrant so great a break in the traditions of the Medjai.

"He had no choice, Meiri," she told her; trying to absolve Ardeth of any guilt in the eyes of a wife that had told him that he must love her. "There is great danger approaching and only he can face what is to come."

"Tell me everything," Meiri instructed, sitting.

"But Meiri, what are _you_ doing here?" Ashna hissed, as though she feared to be overheard.

"I think that why I am here, and the danger of which you speak are part of the same thing, Ashna."

* * *

She watched as the other woman ran a hand over her face. Looking more closely she could see how tired and pale Meiri looked.

"Please tell me what is happening," Meiri went on, "I need to know."

Ashna rubbed sleep and the last lingering sense of the dream from her eyes and nodded. Then she indicated the space on the bed beside her.

"Lie down and rest for a moment and I will tell you what I know," she said, turning on her side to face Meiri when she did so without too much argument. "There was a telegram that Bahir brought to Ardeth several weeks ago. It said that the American's wife is missing and that something she cared for a… handle for something was missing also."

* * *

Meiri felt as though she had been slapped around the face, and moaned softly as Ashna spoke a demon from her worst nightmare.

"Meiri," Ashna gasped softly, "What is it? What is wrong?"

"Nothing, please," she said, her voice as faint as she felt, "go on with your explanation."

"But you are sick you--"

"Ashna, please, I _have_ to know." Meiri took several deep breaths to try and steady herself as Ashna continued hesitantly, fearfully almost.

"He sent Rashid and Tarek to bring the American and his family from il-Qahira, and sent Essam to check on those that guard the other parts of this thing that is missing."

She sighed at the stupidity of the elders in that moment. How could they marry this girl to Ardeth and not tell her of such things with which her life would now become involved.

"Listen to me, Ashna," she began, "The handle that is missing is from an artifact of great power from the time of the Gods of Egypt. It is part of the Sistrum of Isis that I used to return Ardeth to his life and to the tribes of his people. If it were to fall into the wrong hands…"

"Meiri, it is worse than that…" Ashna told her, the fear now clear in her voice, "there is more to my tale. Ardeth left with the American to go and check on the others that hold the parts of this sistrum you speak of because Essam returned and said that at least two of the guardians had been killed, and what they guard has been taken also."

"What?" Meiri sat up quickly, ignoring the way her head was spinning.

Ashna nodded, "Ardeth went to check on the others, he would trust no one else with this task."

"I have to go," Meiri said, starting to try and get to her feet.

"Meiri, no," Ashna pushed a hand against her shoulder, "Look at you. You can barely sit up, let alone walk anywhere. You must let me care for you, send for a healer for you; for Ayesha. Whatever it is--"

"No," Meiri pushed her hand away from where she fussed around her, at the same time wanting nothing more than to lie down and let the other woman care for her; to let her send for Ayesha to keep her and the child she carried safe from harm. "You don't understand. _I_ carry a part of that sistrum, and if the other parts of it are being hunted, then so too is the cradle that I carry it. I have to go. I have to take it to safety."

_She smiled as, kneeling before she chest, her eyes still looking on the wrapped cradle that lay at the bottom of it, she felt his arms slide around her from behind as he came to support her._

"_I want you to promise me something," he murmured in her ear._

"_Ardeth--" she started, expecting him to tell her that she did not have to do this; that she did not have to stay._

"_I want you to promise that if anything ever happens and you do not feel that it is safe for the cradle to stay here, then you will bring it to me. And if for some reason you cannot, then you will take it to a safer place," he went on, in spite of her protest._

"_But where?" she turned in his arms and tilted her head up to look at him._

"_Hamunaptra," he said simply, "there is a shrine to Isis there, and in the statue, behind the belly of the kneeling goddess, there is a small cache. Put it there."_

"_But who wouldn't think to look for an artifact of Isis in a shrine dedicated to her?" she had argued then._

"_They might _think_ to look," he said, with just a hint of quiet menace in his voice, "but the City of the Dead is guarded by the combined might of the Twelve Tribes of the Medjai. They will not reach it there."_

_She smiled softly, and closed her eyes as he leaned down and tenderly kissed her lips. The kiss was everything to her. It was her beginning and her end, it was the very breath of her life, and her every reason for being. She melted against him, pressing herself closer as he deepened the kiss._

Moaning softly against the memory, she said again, "I have to go to Hamunaptra."

She started to rise again, getting only as far as her hands and feet before a spasm of pain brought her to her knees. She sank to the top of the bed, wrapping her arms around her middle.

It was many long minutes, with Ashna fussing around her, bringing her heated cloths to wrap around her belly, before the pain subsided enough for her to move.

"Ashna," she gripped the other woman by the arm, "Please will you care for Khalidah as you do for my son?"

"We will _both_ care for both of them as you are getting well once more," Ashna answered. "Now let go of my hand and I will go and bring Ayesha to you. I understand that you do not wish for anyone to know that you are here, but you must let me bring her to you. She will be discrete."

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then nodded.

"All right," she said quietly, "but cover yourself so that Asif cannot see. I pretended to be a healer coming to _you_ so that I could get in."

Ashna nodded, and rose to do just that. Within moments, Meiri was left alone. She closed her eyes and for a time, let her mind drift as she tried to relax her body, as she tried to reach within herself to calm the child.

* * *

If she moved much closer to the fire she would be lying in it, and still she was chilled to the bone. For several moments, Jennifer wondered if she had been foolish in her attempt to follow the Medjai leader and his friends…

Her patient, she reminded herself. He needed her. He needed someone to ground him and remind him that all was well, that he was not going out of his mind, just suffering the after-effects of some terrible trauma that had befallen him… and in spite of many people's assurances to the contrary, she still did not believe the tales of walking corpses, curses, gods and possession. They were things straight out of story books, and now that she had taken time to sit down and think about it rationally she had finally managed to shake the unsettled feeling she had suffered while traveling to the Medjai's Oasis home.

She turned her head to where she knew Jonathan had been sleeping, and frowned to see him sitting up, staring at the fire and shivering in his blanket. Quietly she sat up, and then moved carefully around to sit down beside him, wrapped in her own blanket.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked in a half whisper.

"Didn't want to," he answered mournfully.

"Jonathan, you _have_ to sleep." She worried when he shook his head. "Sleep will help you to heal."

Gently she took his hand into hers and the contact made him turn his head to look at her. She gave him a smile.

"I'm going to help you, really I am," she assured him, "but that will mean that you have to help me to do that, and the first thing I need you to do is to get some sleep; to rest."

"But the dreams--"

"Are just dreams and cannot harm you." She squeezed his hand. "You have to remember tha--"

"There was a woman," he spoke over her, as though he had not heard that she was speaking, let alone what she had said, "She was watching them as they were watching… always watching and then the feelings start. It's like… like something rising up inside – or maybe I'm sinking down into it. Like quicksand."

She waited for a moment to see if he was going to say anything more, when he did not she said, "Go on…"

"I start to feel incredibly angry. Angry for all the times anyone has ever put me down, or called me stupid; doubted my ability. It makes me feel all mixed up inside; like a storm," he turned back to stare into the fire, "and then the voice starts."

"Voice?" she prompted, equally as gently and feeling encouraged that he was talking at least.

"Like a snake… hissing… hissing all manner of hateful things." His eyes narrowed as though he was trying hard to hear something far off in the distance. When he next spoke, his voice held an altogether different quality, "_Always the answer was no… your whole life… That tortured Medjai and his Usertim whore? They are no match for me… even now events overtake them, as they do you all. You are Mine, Jonathan… you always will be. Surrender…_"

Jennifer shivered… the words he spoke were the last she had expected from so gentle a man, and the tone was chilling.

"Jonathan?" she asked, almost fearful of the answer.

"I can't _take_ it," he said in a voice far more his own tortured whimper, "Always pushing, pushing… pu--"

"Jonathan?" the voice came out of the darkness behind them both and startled, she yelped and leaped to her feet, taking a step away from the Medjai who melted from the blackness beyond the campfire, his sword held firmly in his hand and, she noted with considerable alarm, hovering only inches from Jonathan's neck.

"I'm all right," he answered and turned a backward glance the Medjai's direction. Ardeth regarded him for a moment and then nodded and once more sheathed his sword. Jonathan closed his eyes as the sound of the sword sliding back into its sheath filled the air over the crackle of the fire.

"Thank you," he whispered, and Jennifer put the pieces together and realised what had just occurred.

"You were going to kill him!" she said, astounded, but yelped again, before Ardeth could answer, as the corner of the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders caught fire and the flames licked up toward her shoulders and utterly put out of her stride, she danced around in a circle, yelping and tying alternately to shake off the flames and blow them out.

The commotion woke the American, and even as Ardeth reached for her to still her frantic movement, O'Connell pulled the blanket from her shoulders and tossed it onto the ground, kicking sand over it to extinguish the flames.

"Are you hurt?" Ardeth asked, still holding her arm.

Mutely she shook her head, her eyes alternately darting from the hand on her arm to the wrist of his other hand, still resting against the hilt of his blade. Once more she felt the doubt of her own beliefs creeping up on her out of these nocturnal events.

"What the _hell_ were you trying to do?" O'Connell rounded on her, and snapping out of her shock, she turned to face him, shaking off the Medjai leader's touch. "You think it's going to help _any_ of us if you toast yourself?"

"Mister O'Connell," she snapped, "You do realize that this… this _man_ was about to kill your brother-in-law?"

"Perhaps now you understand the seriousness of the things that are occurring here." It was the Medjai that answered, not the American. "Things that you can no longer dismiss as fancy."

"Oh can't I?" she raged at him. "All _I_ saw was a desert barbarian about to kill a man because of a little… playacting."

The Medjai warrior bristled visibly and both Jonathan and O'Connell stepped forward, ready to put themselves between her and Ardeth.

"Pray Allah you never discover how little playacting there is here," he said to her, almost growling the words at her. "Pray _hard, _ya sitti."

Without another word he turned and went in the direction of the horses. O'Connell shook his head at her, and followed after Ardeth. Jonathan, however, stood by, looking down at his feet.

"Ardeth's right, Jenny," he said to her softly, looking up then to meet her eyes. "You can't just disbelieve things out here just because you haven't seen them. It's real, and it's happening… and if I believed in Allah… in _any_ good god, I'd be praying hard to keep you safe too."

* * *

Side by side with Ayesha, Ashna returned quickly and led the other woman into the tent. Once inside, both women shook off the fabrics covering their heads, Ayesha pausing a moment longer to ease out the long braid of her hair from beneath her hastily donned healer's robes.

"Bring me to her," she instructed, her voice carrying a gentle softness amid the command.

Ashna nodded, and led Ayesha toward the bedroom at the back of the tent. She liked the woman, in spite of all the tales she'd heard of her disobedience and the evil that followed it, and her, around. She had only ever found her to be a gentle and kind soul, and as Ayesha was a member of Ardeth's family on his mother's side, Ashna was more than confident that she would do all that she could to help Meiri.

"Ashna?" Ayesha's confused tone brought her back from her thoughts of family and her worries for Meirionnydd. She looked toward the bed and discovered the source of the healer's confusion.

Meiri was gone.

* * *

Heavy with sleep, and yet with the instinct wrought of her years as a woman of the desert, Ghayda woke to the sounds from outside the cave that should not have been there. She did not have time to process the fact that Meiri was not there, or that the chest at the back of the cave stood open, though she noticed both of those things. Her first thought was of Nabilah.

Putting her hand over her daughter's mouth to stop her from speaking she shook the girl awake, and quickly bundled her toward the now cold fireplace, even as the voices from outside filtered in… proof that her feelings of danger had not been mistaken, for if it were Rashid or Ardeth, the only two people that knew of the caves, they would have called a friendly greeting by now.

"You have to climb, 'Bilah," she told her urgently, her voice barely above a whisper. "Follow the chimney out of the cave and find a place to hide."

"No," Nabilah moaned, looking fearfully at her mother. "Ume, you--"

"I will not fit, my sweet," she stroked her five year old daughter's hair, "but do not fear for me. Do as I say, and climb… climb out and find a place to hide. I will call for you when I know it is safe."

Nabilah threw a fierce hug around her neck and then when Ghayda pushed her away, and up into the wide fissure that was the chimney, she climbed as fast as she could. Ghayda did not move until she heard her do so, and then, still trying to shake off the drug induced sleep, she tried to gather a few things and make a break to leave. If she could get out…

"Well, look what we have here!"

She backed away from the door as she almost collided with two of the six men coming in through the outer cave. Escape was impossible. All that was left was to fight. She turned as fast as she could and tried to strike out toward the kitchen, toward where the only weapon she might find would come to hand, but arms closed around her waist and she was lifted from the ground.

"Put me _down!_" she demanded, and wriggled and kicked out at the one that had lifted her.

"Right little hell cat this one," the man's companions joked with her captor.

He tried to turn her in his arms and, taking their words and making them truth, she lashed out with her hand, raking her nails down the man's face.

"Bitch!" he roared, letting go with one hand, tucking her painfully against his hip bone as he covered his bleeding face with the palm of his free hand. She renewed her efforts, kicking and writhing with as much energy as she could muster; trying to break free.

It was no good. In the next moment she was tossed unceremoniously to the ground, face down, and the weight of a man settled on the small of her back. She cried out as he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled back her head until she felt she would snap clean in two and the cold touch of a sharp blade at her throat stilled her struggles.

Ghayda closed her eyes, whispering quiet prayers that Nabilah would be safe and that Allah would protect her daughter once he had taken _her_ to his side.

"Wait!" a voice snapped and the words of the Shahadah froze on her lips. Though the knife blade did not move away entirely, it no longer pressed so hard against her skin. "We need her to tell us where it is. It's not in the chest."

Her mind went racing around the possibilities. Something was missing… the cradle… Meiri must have taken it with her when she left. She found herself suddenly glad that her friend was not here with her. It would have been a far worse situation had they both been here… and both of the children also.

"Where is it?" the man on her back leaned down to ask the question into her ear. "What have you done with it?"

"I…" she licked her lips to give them moisture, "I don't have it."

She cried out again in the next moment as the one holding her let go the knife and flipped her over, only to deliver a backhanded blow to the side of her face… a double pain as the back of her head then impacted the rock of the floor and dazed, seeing stars, she repeated herself.

"It's the truth. I do not have what you seek."

"Tear this place apart until you find that cradle!" the man that had stopped her assailant from killing her, who appeared to be in charge of the group of men snapped his orders at the others, before turning back to face her.

"And you," he said to her menacingly. "You _will_ tell me what I need to know… one way or another."

Then he nodded to the one holding her, and the nightmare truly began.

* * *

Wedged against the bend in the rock at the top of the fissure, at the top of the chimney, Nabilah pressed her hands tightly against her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. They were hurting her mother. She could hear her mother's cries even through her hands.

"Ume," she whispered, tears streaming down her young face. "Ume…"

_No, please don't! I don't know… I can't tell you!_

Another wordless scream followed; a scrambling sound and the sound of another slap, another cry. Nabilah turned again and scurried the rest of the way along the now horizontal fissure… squeezing through the narrow gap, barely fitting as the sounds of her mother's distress followed her in the newly dawned morning.

_No, don't touch me, don't…!_

* * *

Something deep and ingrained stirred within Imhotep, Miranda could see it; could feel it rising with his temper as he stood viewing the treatment his men were visiting upon the Medjai woman through the Mirror of Nephthys.

Miranda winced as the one holding her cut another slice through her ear and still she protested that she didn't know… and begged them for mercy as he called for another of his companions to hold her.

Why did it always come to this…?

Miranda had been expecting it, dreading it; knowing that Ananiah would expect her to watch impassively as his henchmen exercised their filthy demonstration of mastery over the woman. She closed her eyes instead as they began to slice away her clothes.

"Naiy!" she jumped as Imhotep's voice growled through the silence. "An sep pat arit matet en bak neb ua satseps haqet!"

It took her more than a moment to translate the Ancient Tongue to realise that he was objecting, from deep within himself. Some moral compass guiding his objection to the cruel use to which these dogs were about to put the Medjai woman who was fighting with everything she had.

Imhotep took a step backwards, raising his hands and half closing his eyes in concentration he began to rapidly and barely voice the words of his sacred spell.

* * *

Nabilah slipped all the way down the side of the rock to the sandy plateau where the horses stood, heedless of the many scrapes on her knees and legs. If she could take one of the horses… but they were so big… but if she could take one, and didn't get lost, perhaps she could go and bring Baba to help Ume.

She peeked around the rocks at the bottom to see that there was no one guarding the horses. They stood alone before the cave mouth.

Her heart hammered in her young chest as she began to run on small legs toward the animals, thinking only to save her mother.

Sand erupted from the ground in front of her, showering her with fine grains as the figure built itself out of the very essence of the earth. Nabilah tried to stop moving, falling over backwards in an attempt to get away from the thing… the demon or djinn or whatever it was that was coming for her.

"Ume!" she could not help the cry for help that burst from her lips, but it was drowned by the roar of anger from the creature that now stood before her.

It was a woman, taller than any woman that Nabilah had ever seen, and very like the paintings that her Baba told her were on the walls of the sacred temples he guarded. Her head was that of a lion, and her skin was bronzed and adorned in jewelled bracers. Even the skirt she wore was of gold.

She turned her head Nabilah's way and tilted it to the side, and then the lion's mouth appeared to smile. The creature brought a hand to her face making a "ssshh" motion with her fingers, and then almost tenderly crouched down to the child, and gently caresses the side of Nabilah's face. The hand was soft, compassionate, benign.

_Do not fear, little one._ The touch seemed to say. _I will help your mother._

And then, at another cry from within the cave, the creature snatched her hand away from Nabilah's cheek and turned in a half crouch, poised and ready.

With a roar of anger, Hathor's creature launched herself in the direction of the cry.

* * *

"What the--!"

The man scrambled away from her, snatching at his clothes as he did, and the other one let go of her wrists. Ghayda rolled to the side, away from the two of them before they could change their minds. She hadn't much strength left, and what little she had was failing.

As she scrambled, she heard the man that had assaulted her cry out and saw him fly past her to land with a sickening crunch against the rock wall and fall to the ground, immobile, his neck twisted at an odd angle. The rest of the men cried out in fear. It made her stop. Thinking perhaps that somehow, Rashid had come, avenged what he thought they had done to his wife, had brought her rescue. The thought made her turn, gathering her ruined clothes around her in an attempt at modesty as she did.

She froze. The creature landed in a crouch between her and the rest of the men… defensive, protective, but terrifying. With all that she had suffered this last thing was all too much for Ghayda, and with a moan of denial, she wilted, barely conscious into the corner of the room.

_Fools! No servant of my summoner has ever visited upon a sacred woman such as you attempt. Dogs!_

The five men backed away from the creature still poised between them and Ghayda. Four of them looked toward their leader, expecting him to be the one to answer the charge.

"We… we were," he stammered, terrified, "We were only trying to find out what she did with the cradle of Usert's sistrum."

_Indeed?_

The creature frowned.

_I find no touch of Usert about this one. Either you lie, or you are mistaken._

"But we were told," he protested, "There… there in the chest. It was supposed to be there."

_Then it has been taken to safety, fool!_

"But… but where?" The leader of the men looked at each of his companions, his brain working quickly, and working to think of where it might be. And then it hit him. What single place was so guarded by the Medjai that they would think it safe? He let a slow smile spread onto his face. It was obvious.

"Hamunaptra," he breathed quietly.

"What about the woman?" one of his men asked. "What about _her?_"

"One of us will stay here; make sure she doesn't run to warn the Medjai that we're coming. Last thing we need is those devils storming the place while we're trying to find where the bitch has hidden it."

He took a glance toward the creature still guarding her and she could see that he thought that there was nothing more they could do to try and get her to tell them where it was, and for that she was thankful… but she had to pull herself together; find some way to get away and get back to Al-Kharga to warn the Medjai and to tell Rashid all that had happened here.

She moaned softly, curling into a tighter ball at the thought of that.

* * *

Ardeth narrowed his eyes as they got closer to the smallholding where Latif made his home. There was no smoke curling from the chimney and at this hour, the man should be out in his meagre field on the edge of the Nile plain.

"I fear the worst, my friend," he said quietly to O'Connell.

"And this makes, what, four?" O'Connell asked.

Ardeth nodded.

"There's got to be a better way than this," his friend shook his head as the five of them now, Jennifer having doubled with Jonathan, rode closer to the small home.

Ardeth dismounted, and one more tossed the reins to Alex, who caught them, this time without protest. Cautiously, he headed toward the doorway.

Flattening himself against the side of the house, he used his fingertips to push open the already unlatched door, peering into the dimness inside. He could smell the blood. It was an unmistakable scent, but it was not accompanied by the smell of decay that should have been present if the body was still here. A cursory examination of the room told him his suspicions were correct and he returned to the others.

"There is no body, only blood. Perhaps whoever it is did not truly kill Latif, only injured him," he said hopefully.

"Um, Ardeth…?" Jonathan was squinting skyward, at birds that were circling only a short way off.

Cursing softly, Ardeth threw himself back into the saddle of his horse, and set Marhana to such a fast pace across the shifting ground that only another Arabian stallion could have matched his speed. The others followed.

"Oh my god!" Alex barely managed to dismount and make it a little way away from the others before he fell to his knees, retching and bringing back what was left of the light breakfast they had eaten only hours before.

Ardeth dismounted once more, surveying the scene and watching as Jennifer turned her head to hide her eyes in Jonathan's shoulder. He almost smiled as his friend awkwardly patted the woman's shoulder. But shaking his head, he turned away with a sigh, and went to see to his fallen warrior brother.

He carefully peeled aside Latif's robe to check, but as he expected, the bell was missing from around the warrior's neck.

"Looks like someone tried to bury him." O'Connell nodded to a shallow scrape in the sand.

Ardeth sat back on his heels, sighing heavily and examining all the possibilities in his mind. They were, it seemed, at least one step behind whoever was gathering the bells. Whoever it was must be a formidable warrior indeed, but then… no. Had not Essam said that there had been no sign of a struggle at either of the first two murders, nor had there been at the third. This was the first time there seemed to have been any disturbance at all, in that the body was not in the home of the Medjai, but here, out on the very edge of his own land. Someone known to them then…

He did not like the way that felt, sitting against his chest asit did. There were only a limited number of people who knew where all of the guardians were and before that moment he would have trusted any one of them with his life. He shuddered at the thought that one of his most trusted warriors, his Chosen could have been compromised, or worse still, had betrayed them all… had betrayed him.

There was only one course of action left to him that made any kind of sense.

Movement just behind him brought him out of his thoughts, and he rose to his feet in time to see O'Connell tending to his son, handing the teenager a canteen of water for him to drink. He came to the two of them, and put a sympathetic hand onto the young man's shoulder.

"Alright Alex?" he asked softly.

Alex nodded his head, still a little pale, but already the colour was returning to his cheeks.

"Yes, sir, I think so," he answered. "It was just a bit of a shock."

Ardeth nodded his understanding.

"Death is never a pleasant thing, my friend," he said and then after a moment continued, "We must finish here and bury his body. When we are done with that I will take you to Meiri, and we will take the cradle from her care."

* * *

The man that was her jailor poked once more with his booted foot at the pile of sand that had once been the creature. It had long since disintegrated, but that did not mean it would not form itself again were he to make a wrong move against her. Neither of them knew, and so it kept her in relative safety.

Of this she was glad, very glad, because every part of her ached, she felt wretched and she just wanted to go home. Still she could think of no way to escape. She hadn't the strength to run, not as she was.

"Hey! Witch!" he called, tossing one of the scattered cushions toward Ghayda to attract her attention. "I'm thirsty. What have you got to drink in this hovel?"

She pulled herself up painfully to a sitting position, a spark of hope kindling in her mind. There had been coffee left over from the night before; coffee that Meiri had made, and drugged. If they had not upended the jug in their search then perhaps…

"There was coffee," she said, forming the words slowly with swollen lips, "It was in the pot by the fire."

She saw he man look around toward the fire, then cross the room and pick up a pot, jiggling it from side to side.

"This one?" he asked.

She nodded.

"And it'll be good if I just… heat it up?"

Again she nodded… and then bit her lip as her heart twisted and switched places with her stomach. Heating it up meant that he would light a fire in the hearth. What if Nabilah had not crawled out? What if there had been no _way _out?

Closing her eyes she prayed hard once more, begging Allah to keep her daughter safe as the sound of flint and steel sparking a new fire reached her ears. It was not long before kindling caught, and he was adding logs to build a cooking fire on which to warm the coffee.

_Oh Nabilah…_

It did not take long, and soon she watched through tear filled eyes, as he poured the coffee into a cup he found amid the mess they'd made of the once tidy home within the cave. He took a sip and made a face.

"God, it's like sludge!" he exclaimed.

"It is the way we drink it," she taunted him a little, the fear for her daughter lending her strength. "Strong, like our men."

With a derisive snort he tossed the rest of the coffee back and poured himself a second cup, and set the pot back on the edge of the fire to keep the last of it warm.

"It's not so bad once you get used to it," he said.

Ghayda held her breath… it was taking a long time… too long. What if it didn't work? What if he was too heavy for the remaining drug to properly affect?

A blur of movement in the doorway of the cave turned her head and brought her both relief and terrible fear at the same time, as a little face was peeping round the door. She tried to signal with her eyes for Nabilah to get back… to hide in the outer cave until she called her.

"Ere! What's this?" It was too late. The man had seen her too, and was starting to get to his feet to go and investigate.

Faster than she thought she could ever move, and certainly faster than her current pain should have allowed, Ghayda launched herself at the man, snatching up the almost empty, but still hot coffee pot she swung it at the side of his head, where it impacted with a sizzling thwack.

The man howled in pain, momentarily forgetting the creature of earlier, and swung toward Ghayda, who was still brandishing the coffee pot.

"Leave her alone!" she yelled at him. "You won't _touch _her."

"Look what you've done!" he took his hand away from his scorched cheek and took another menacing step toward Ghayda.

She raised the coffee pot defensively once more.

"Ume!" a little frightened voice called, getting closer as Nabilah ran to her, to be with her.

"Nabilah, no!"

The man turned and caught Nabilah by the back of her nightdress, swinging her up into his arms, where she kicked and bit and struggled, just as her mother had done as his now dead companion had lifted _her_ into his arms, before throwing herself backwards and making a rigid board of her back.

"Let her go!"

"Make me!"

"Ume!" Nabilah screamed once more.

Ghayda took a step forward, brandishing the coffee pot, the only weapon she had against the bastard that had her daughter.

"One more step and I swear I will open her from navel to neck," he told her, and Ghayda watched in horror as he pressed the point of the knife against her struggling daughter.

"Be still, 'Bilah," she said urgently, and pleaded, "Please, let her go. She's only five years old, she cannot hurt you. She is but a child."

"You come any closer and--" he faltered, and shook his head a little, his grip slipping on the knife, and on Nabilah, who fell to the floor, and lay there winded. "What did you--?"

Again he shook his head, and Ghayda took the chance to gather her daughter to her, holding her close as Nabilah wrapped herself around her.

"You--"

Finally overcome, he staggered and fell to his knees, falling sideways as unconsciousness overtook him.

Ghayda held Nabilah close for several long moments, checking over every inch of her, noting her scraped hands and knees.

"Where did the lion go?" Nabilah asked softly.

"I do not know, little one," Ghayda answered, setting her down and approaching the unconscious man "Turn away, Nabilah."

Obediently, Nabilah did as she was told. Ghayda took the man's knife from his hand and pushing him over onto his back raised the knife to plunge it into his heart.

_It is the power of a woman to _give_ life…_

She faltered.

"No," she said, dropping the knife and rubbing her still sore wrists. "I will not take your life in cold blood. Not even yours."

Leaning over she reached for the end of one of Meiri's veils and tied the man hand and foot. She would take him with her, back to Al-Kharga and let the swift justice of a wronged Medjai warrior be his fate.

With what was left of her strength she dragged him to the horses in the outer cave, his own and that of the dead man, and pulled him, belly first over the saddle of one of them. Then lifting her daughter into the saddle of the other, she mounted up behind her, and set off at as fast a pace as she could towards the Oasis home of the Medjai.

Only when the hot wind of the Sahara blew against her face did she let her tears fall.


	14. An Ancient and Forbidden Love

Angel of the Heart Chapter 14 

"This is _it?_" Ardeth cringed at the incredulous tone in his friend's voice as they approached the small outcropping of rocks that nestled Meiri's cave-home deep within its bosom.

"You do not understand, O'Connell," he said mournfully, defensively. "The decisions we made, we made because there were those that threatened Meiri's life were she to remain at Al-Kharga. The Elders--"

"Seems to me, buddy, that these elders of yours have caused you nothing but trouble," O'Connell grumbled seriously.

Ardeth knew that he was alluding, along with this circumstance to the time, years ago now, when they had all but told him that the quest he was on and his involvement with the Usertim would literally be the death of him. They had been right, but O'Connell had argued that they had been right because they had dampened his spirits in warning him of his death, and so had been a contributing factor in their prophesy coming to pass.

He couldn't help glancing at Jonathan. The Englishman avoided his gaze as though he knew exactly what Ardeth was thinking. Would he have seen the blade in the hand of his friend, would he have been more on his guard, if not for the warning of the Elders?

"Even so, my friend," he dipped his head, a small bow of acknowledgement to O'Connell's opinion, "Meiri was not safe at the Oasis and rather than send her so far away that I would never see her, or our daughter, I brought her here. It is safe, and it is comfortable enough."

He led them carefully up the winding slope to the sandy plateau amid the rocks and each step deepened his frown considerably.

"Safe, huh?" O'Connell said, dismounting at his side to examine the depression in the sand, and the evidence of the recent presence of horses.

He was not listening, not to O'Connell. The sound of his blood rushing in his ears was all he heard as his heart constricted and muscles tensed, preparing for action. Rashid would never bring anyone else to the caves, and he was the only other person that knew of its location and…

An ugly thought pushed its way into his brain. Rashid… He had been compromised once and had almost harmed Meirionnydd because of the evil that had possessed him then. What if…?

He growled and shook his head, dismissing the thought. No. Not Rashid. Someone had found the cave. No doubt the same someone that was hunting the parts of the sistrum. The knot in his heart tightened still further and for just a fraction of a second he had difficulty breathing…

_She lay face down, a pool of deep red blood around her head where she had been brutally slaughtered. Her face a pale ivory, lifeless and waxy, her mouth slightly open as though she had been trying to call his name as they took her life._

"Meiri…" he gasped, and before his friends could stop him, even before O'Connell was back on his feet, he had grasped his rifle and dashed into the gloom of the cave.

* * *

"Damn it," Rick swore, "Alex, Jonathan… Stay here."

Without waiting for their answer, he drew both his weapons and followed his friend into the cave, expecting trouble.

He skidded to a halt amid the debris within the cave, amid the destruction of a home. The small alcove at the side that had obviously been the sleeping area was a mess of pillows and covers, as if it had been taken apart, piece by piece… the cooking area too. Pots and pans lay strewn around, fallen where they had been upended beside the table that had been overturned for no reason that Rick could see. Chests had been opened and their contents, mostly clothes, had been pulled from them to lie discarded on the floor. He wandering among it all, trying to get a feel for what had happened. Of one thing he was sure; it had been a fast, destructive search.

He turned his head, to find his friend. Ardeth knelt just within the sleeping nook, his head down, his hands holding the ruined remains of a light green dress. He was staring at a bloodstain, his fingers curled into white knuckled fists against the cloth. He was trembling.

Rick crouched down beside him, and gently took it from him, meeting surprising little resistance.

"Ardeth," he said softly.

"This is my fault, O'Connell," he answered in a hollow tone. A huge sigh heaved its way out of his body. "They took it, did then not? The cradle is gone?"

"I didn't see it anywhere," he said, "but Ardeth… whoever it was… they took this place apart looking for it. That table was turned over in frustration. There was no reason to touch it otherwise."

Ardeth looked up at him then, moving rapidly, his eyes narrowing with concentration and thought. And, Rick noted, with just a glimmer of hope. He knew it was cruel to play on the hope he saw there, but he needed Ardeth to help him find Evy. And if whoever these people were _did_ have Meiri as their prisoner, then _she_ needed him too.

"What if she wasn't _here_ when they came?" he asked softly.

"But," Ardeth reached to take the torn dress from him once more, "what about this, O'Connell? _Someone_ was here and if not Meiri, then who?"

Rick sighed softly and lowering one knee to the floor to support himself looked around once more, and then down at the dress in Ardeth's hands.

"If..." he started and then trailed off again. He didn't really want to say the words. Words in this place had a way of making themselves truth. "If she were dead--"

"Whoa!"

He turned, as did Ardeth at the sudden exclamation from the doorway.

"Alex, I thought I told you to stay outside with Jonathan and Jenny," he admonished his son.

"I know, but I thought… there weren't any sounds of fighting or anything," he shrugged, and Rick watched him looking around once more. "What happened?"

"We were once again too late to save--" Ardeth began to answer.

"You don't know that," Rick argued as Alex came further into the cave room and began looking around.

Ardeth shook the dress under Rick's nose. "She is hurt, and they have taken her. This much we were too late to prevent. If they have Meiri then they also have the cradle."

"Um, Dad? Ar-- Mister Bay?"

* * *

Something in the tone of Alex' voice made Ardeth stand and turn to face the boy. He was staring at something just beyond the narrowing of the cave, toward the back of it, where the chest that had contained the cradle stood.

Quickly, O'Connell at his side, he moved closer to see what it was that Alex had seen.

"Who's this guy?" Alex asked as he reached his side.

Ardeth moved cautiously forward, turning the fallen man onto his back with the firm press of his boot. The man was dressed in flowing robes of a deep midnight blue, almost black. An unfamiliar eye might have identified him as a member of one of the desert Tuareg tribes, but for someone that knew better… that could see the slight feathered pattern stitched into the collar and cuffs of the under robe…

"I do not know," he said, "But I have seen these robes before."

"Whoever he was, he looks as if he was scared to death," O'Connell said nodding toward the terrified expression fixed onto the man's lifeless visage.

Now crouching beside the corpse, Ardeth shook his head.

"His neck is broken," he said and watched as Alex started to pale. The boy backed away until his boot crunched against something and he turned to look at what it was.

"Hey," he said, his voice rising in exclamation, "Sand!"

Ardeth frowned. Sand… within the cave? There had been no storm fierce enough to carry it through the outer chamber. Rising from his crouch, he began to look around once more, trying to add these new facts into the puzzle, trying to make sense of all the information and to make it fit into a coherent whole.

O'Connell was searching too, and after a moment leaned down to pick something up from beneath the edge of a discarded blanket. He held it out and taking it, Ardeth's heart began to race as this new clue started to build a totally different story to the one that had threatened to overwhelm him only moments before.

He ran his fingers a second time over the wave patterns at either end of the Arabic script at the centre of the wide gold bracelet, and read the name etched between his warrior brother's symbol… _Khalifah_.

"O'Connell, I think you are right," he said.

"I am?" O'Connell's answer was of startled surprise.

"I think you are right when you suggest that Meiri was not here when they came."

"But you said--."

"This bracelet," he held up the wide gold U-shaped band, "belongs to Ghayda. She is Rashid's wife. He must have brought her to be company for Meiri. I know from before my wedding to Ashna that Meiri had seen visions. She would not tell me what, but if she saw something that led her to believe that the cradle was in danger, then she would have taken it to safety. She must have persuaded Ghayda to allow her the use of her horse to take the cradle to the Shrine at Hamunaptra." He felt a triumphant surge of hope mixed with a desperate urgency. "Ghayda would have no idea where she would take it and would not have been able to tell them when they asked her where it was and so they searched and now have taken Ghayda and gone in search of the cradle elsewhere."

"Then we have to go after them," O'Connell said.

"No, we must travel to Hamunaptra. We must keep to our original course of action and retrieve the cradle from Meiri's care."

"But what about Rashid's wife?" Alex asked, evidently taking the words from his father's thoughts as O'Connell closed his mouth when the young man spoke.

Ardeth turned to address both of them urgently.

"It is only a matter of time before they realize that they can use the bells they have already retrieved to find the remaining parts of the Sistrum. That will lead them to the cradle's hiding place at Hamunaptra. Once they come there we can save Ghayda and take the bells from them."

"Just like that?" O'Connell had a note of almost sarcastic doubt in his voice.

"Trust me, my friend. It is the right thing to do," he said, "but we must act quickly, for if the patrol guarding the City of the Dead believes that Ghayda had betrayed the Medjai in leading these people to Hamunaptra they will surely kill her."

Alex gasped.

"It is a very different world we live in, Alex." Ardeth put his hand onto the young man's shoulder, regarding him for a moment with respectful sympathy. His respect for the teenager doubled as Alex straightened himself a little, his eyes showed a readiness to face whatever world it was that Ardeth was to show him. Ardeth nodded and said, "Come."

He slipped Ghayda's marriage bracelet into his pouch as he led the others from the cave and back to the waiting horses.

* * *

"Do you think they're all right in there? They've been a frightfully long time." Jenny's voice almost made him jump, and he turned to look at the cave entrance for a moment.

"Yes, yes…" he assured her, although he might as well have been assuring himself of it, "I'm sure they're just fine. Probably… catching up on old times… something…"

"Jonathan…" The soft tone in her voice made him look at her; look down into her upturned face where she was held in front of him on the horse. "You don't need to put on a brave face just for me. It's all right to be worried."

"But I'm _not_ worried. I'm not," he said, swallowing a little when he realised just how close he was holding her. He loosened his arms a little with a quiet apology.

She smiled at him, and laid her hand against his chest… over where his heart was beating, almost straining as it had been since he had arrived in Egypt.

"Jenny, I…"

He stopped. It was ridiculous, this feeling that had been growing in him, growing equally as was his fear. It seemed to him as though, as his fear mounted, so did the possibility that there could be something between him and the woman that had promised she would help him… keep him safe. What if she could? What if she did, what then? She had called herself his doctor on repeated occasions and if that were true then there could never be anything between them because one simply didn't let feelings develop for your physician. It just wasn't right… but she was so close and, as she sat perfectly still, looking up at him, an adorable, trusting expression on her face it was all he could do to stop himself from leaning down and kissing her there and then.

"It's all right, Jonathan," she told him softly, and moved her hand from his chest to place a feathery touch against his lips. "I understand."

He dared to breathe and let his eyes close…

_Fool… weakling… coward!_

…he moaned in fear.

"It's all right," Jenny soothed him, leaning against him a little. "…all right…"

* * *

In spite of all her urging, the horse would go no further than the fallen pillars at the outskirts of the City, so Meiri dismounted and tethered him nearby before turning her attention to her destination. Her approach, or some goddess given luck had shielded her arrival from the ever watchful eyes of the Medjai patrol that even now sat on horseback atop the cliff nearby, guarding the City of the Dead.

She shivered as she crossed the threshold into the sand covered temple compound, wrapping her hand more tightly around the artefact she carried. There was no reason for her to feel so unsettled, to feel such fear. The creature had long since gone from this place, but malice lingered, and it was that which chilled the beat of her heart as she crossed toward Isis' Shrine at the rear of the temple.

She rested for a moment against the doorway, peering into the gloom, looking down the steps at the faded colours on the walls, at the gold that winked, beckoning her onto the hallowed ground of her Lady.

…_I am the beauty and life in the green oasis… the white moon among the stars that gives light on the darkest night… she that is with you as with all women… who watches over you but is a part of your also…_

The words whispered around her as if drifting spirits circled her… passed through her, lifting her hair in an unseen breeze to float around her as a dark halo against the brighter light of doorway.

She stepped forward, down the small flight of steps into the darkness, into the night-filled embrace of power that wrapped its feathered arms around her, drawing her closer… drawing her into its grasp.

_I come to you hewn in pieces. Lament Oh Egypt for he is lost to me. I have not been hewn in pieces save by the loss of you…_

She staggered, almost falling to her knees as the first wave of vision swept over her.

_He joined with her in unmatched fiery passion; possessing every inch of her body until she was dizzy with it – drunk on his touch and powerless against the pulse of his life inside her._

_Blood… a drop of blood falling, falling to stain white linen and a cry of pain… the bloodied head of child between risen thighs… being born… a dark head of curls…_

_Pain and pleasure… the cry of a child, a new born… a dark-curled head, still wet with the blood of his birth… "Give me back my son!"_

"I have come to thee quickly, and I have driven back the footsteps of Our Brother whose face is hidden…"

She whispered the words of the prayer as she forced her feet to take her forward, into the shrine, toward the kneeling figure of Isis that adorned the rear wall, resplendent and golden… shining…

"_Give me back my son!" It was as if she had walked into a huge black wall. The hands that gripped her shoulders were uncompromising in their strength and determination. He shook her slightly._

"_I cannot give you what I do not have…" she whispered. "That which has never been mine."_

"I watch to protect thee, Oh Osiris." Her mouth formed the words, though she let no sound disturb the silence of the shrine.

She reached up to press her hands against the belly of the carved figure, pushing slightly against the feathers where her fingers fell, and then gasped softly as the weight of the stone came into her hands, revealing the cavity behind. Turning, she placed the stone cover onto the ground behind her before putting the cradle of Isis' Sistrum into the hiding place that was the belly of the goddess herself.

_blood flowing over a knife, held in a small hand and a pain, a pain so sharp it drove her to her knees… she moaned in denial… dizzy… dizzy as the scene spiralled away from her and she rushed through dark corridors, out of the temple of Nephthys, out to hover over the rocks that concealed it… out over the desert, beyond the lands of the Ninth tribe…_

Meiri gripped the lower edge of the cavity, trying to brace herself, but feeling the strength failing in her legs, trying to shake her head to clear the vision, but feeling the darkness of the shrine closing in around her, she sank to her knees, leaning her forehead against the cool stone of the wall.

* * *

"This is outrageous!"

Rashid sighed as the Elder pushed his way, uninvited, into the main room of his home. He put down the pastry he had been eating and looked up at the other man, fixing a deliberately bored expression onto his face.

"I'm eating," he said, "What about that is it that you object to now?"

"You know full _well_ what I mean, warrior," Mohammed snapped. "Where is he? Where has he gone?"

With another sigh, Rashid put aside his dish and drew himself to his full height, facing the elder.

"If you wish to use titles, then I am your Honoured Second and I object to you coming uninvited into my home, raving like a madman."

"Where is Ardeth?" Mohammed spat.

"I do not know," Rashid answered calmly, then his expression hardened, "And if I did, I would not tell you. You have manipulated our First Medjai for the last time, Old Snake!"

"I think not," the elder stood a little straighter. "Do you think the Medjai commanders would be pleased to learn that Ardeth had left his young bride alone when they should still be building a life together?"

"Do you think," Rashid advanced on the older man, pushing him, step by step, back toward the doorway without ever laying a finger on him, "that I would not expose your scheming blackmail for what it is? And do not think to try me, Mohammed. The time is coming when the little empire you attempt to build for yourself will turn against you, and may Allah have mercy on you then."

He narrowed his eyes as they exited the tent and the morning sunlight hit them full on.

"Empty threats, Rashid Khalifah, or should that be--"

"Do not," Rashid pressed the tip on his finger into Mohammed's chest, "push me, lest you find out just how much like my father I truly am."

"Your father…"

"My father," he raised his voice, speaking over the Elder, "was Kareem Bay's most trusted and loyal warrior, as was my mother to loyal to Hanif and you…"

"…was a faithless whoremonger…"

"You were a fool to try and use them against him in your pathetic attempt to wrest the leadership of the Twelve Tribes from the Bay family. Until the day he died, Hanif stood beside Kareem as I have stood beside Ardeth. What makes you believe that could ever change? What part of you does not understand that our bond is only strengthened by the threat that you have tried to hold over all of us these decades past?"

"Your mother? Loyal to Hanif? Perhaps this is where your own wife learned her loyalty then. Perhaps Rida was not as innocent as--"

Until then, Rashid had managed to keep the greater part of his temper in check, but at the mention of his beloved, precious wife, he snapped, and faster than any warrior ever had he drew back his fist, ready to strike the man down. Even as he swung his punch, his hand was caught in a firm, unyielding grasp.

"Is something wrong, my father?" Abdul-Rahman asked softly, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Rashid as he calmed enough that he no longer felt the urge to tear the Elder into crocodile fodder.

"Nothing, my son," he said with a deep breath, thoroughly enjoying the fleet look of angry helplessness that passed across the old man's face, "Elder Mohammed was just expressing concern that--"

"Rider!"

The cry of alarm silenced him and pushing the elder aside, more out of reflex than a desire to actually save the man from being run down, he turned to watch the two horses come thundering into the Oasis.

* * *

She had ridden hard and every injury they had given her in the course of her interrogation had opened and attracted more sand than she thought must have been left on the desert trails.

She clung tightly to Nabilah, but in truth knew that both of them were in danger of falling, as faint and exhausted as she felt it was all she could do to keep the horse pointed in the right direction and give him his head.

She could have wept as she saw the great rocks of the Al-Kharga oasis clearly in view, and heard the cry of the sentry that called a warning to those within, that a rider was approaching – and at speed.

She tried to pull back on the reins as the green of her home came into view, to bring the horse to a halt, but lost her balance and began to slip from the saddle… trying to turn so that she would not fall atop her daughter.

* * *

"Father!" Abdul-Rahman gasped, but Rashid had already seen and was running beside his adopted son toward the fallen rider, leaving other warriors to catch the running horses.

"Ghayda," he fell to his knees, to take her into his arms, and cradle her close, letting Abdul-Rahman lift Nabilah into his arms.

"Abira," the girl whimpered, and clung to her brother.

"It's all right, 'Bilah. You're home… safe," he told her.

"Healer!" Rashid called urgently, letting everything but Ghayda in his arms fade away.

"Rashi…" she tried to speak, hoarse from the dust and exhaustion.

"Hayati, hush… help is coming." He ran his fingers over her bruised cheek, barely touching, not wishing to hurt her any more than she was… a smouldering anger kindling against whoever had dared to lay a hand on his wife... and a deeper fear at what it might mean for them… and for Meiri, who should have been with Ghayda.

His head snapped up at a soft touch on his arm and he found Ashna at his side, carrying a blanket with her.

"Cover her and bring her to my home," she told him softly. "They will send the healer there."

* * *

"Healer!"

The cry came outside the dim sanctuary that was the healers' workspace. It was here that they brought warriors that had be hurt in battle, and to this canvass covered hall that those Medjai that were sick or needed the attention of a healer in other matters came.

To the Medjai it was a sacred space… and to be a sworn healer was a sacred trust.

Ayesha looked up from where she was rebinding the cut on a young Medjai's arm. She looked around at the other healers and wondered which of them would respond to the urgent cry. None of them moved from where they were sitting or kneeling beside cots, or from workbenches where they were sorting herbs, and brewing simples.

A hand slapped painfully against her cheek as she was cuffed aside the ear. She winced and lowered her face as Rihana addressed her crossly.

"Did you not hear them calling for a healer?" she snapped. "Go. Zhara will finish here."

Even before Ayesha had risen from the stool, a blue clad Medjai Healer moved away from the bench to come and take her place. Sighing, and trying not to let the continuing harassment get to her, she went to fetch her healers bag, and hurried from the sanctuary.

It was not hard to see where she was expected, and for a moment, panic gripped her as she saw the small crowd gathered near to Ashna's dwelling, where she had been the night before, but then she saw the young Medjai woman beckoning to her urgently from the doorway and the panic subsided a little.

"What is it?" she hissed as she reached Ashna's side. "Is it Meiri? Is it--"

"It is Ghayda." Ashna told her.

"What happened?" she asked, following her inside, but before Ashna could answer, Ayesha's arm was taken in a strong but gentle grasp and she was hurried toward the hearthside, and a hastily built bed.

"Help her, Ayesha," Rashid pleaded.

"Peace, Rashid, let me see her," she answered, covering his hand on her arm, "and tell me what happened."

"I do not know. She arrived here moments ago on a speeding horse, as you now see her," he told her as she knelt beside Ghayda, and visually appraised the woman's condition.

She nodded, and tenderly took Ghayda's hand into one of her own and reached with the other to gently touch the woman's face, to try and rouse her. Ghayda's eyes opened, and she squeezed Ayesha's hand.

"Rash…" she said, "Mei…"

"Do not try to speak, Ghayda. Let me tend to you, you can speak later."

"No," Ghayda managed clearly, urgently, and in spite of Ayesha's protests against it, tried to sit up, and reach out to Rashid, failing on both counts.

"Bring me some water," Ayesha commanded, and when the beaker was handed to her, she carefully helped Ghayda to drink enough to free her voice.

"Men," she gasped breathlessly, "Men riding for Hamunaptra… Meiri… is missing."

* * *

"Hush my heart," Rashid stroked back her hair, "The patrol at the city will tak--."

"Rashid!" Ashna gasped.

He turned his head to look at her, into the shock on her pale face.

"Tell me," he instructed.

"Meiri was here… in the night. I tried to get her to stay because she was so sick." She looked down at her hands, and fearing what she was about to say, Rashid crossed the room and knelt down in front of her, taking her hand into his own. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "She had gone when I returned with Ayesha to help her."

"Where?" he asked urgently, "Where has she gone?"

"Hamunaptra," Ashna whispered.

Rashid let go of her hands, looking with anguished indecision between his injured wife, and the doorway.

"Go," Ayesha told him. "I will take care of your wife."

He nodded once, and then strode to the doorway.

"Medjai Chosen," he called, "we ride!"

* * *

The heat of the sun threw a haze over the desert, hiding the rocks, hiding the rise, hiding everything but the oppressive shifting of reality to eyes dimmed with grief and a mind gripped in fear and hate.

"But I love her… I want her back, I do…"

_Find me what I need… let me live again._

"Yes… yes, see… if I get all the pieces, I can _do _that," she muttered to herself, answering the angry buzzing voice within her head.

_And bring him back to me… he that I love. He's mine. It has to be mine._

"But my friends," she said mournfully, and stumbled. The rise of rocks was getting closer… not so hidden by the shimmering heat, "they won't understand. They won't."

_It doesn't matter… we are all that matters. We must be reunited._

"I won't," Evy said, sitting down in the hot sand beside the first evidence that there was anything here but the sand and rocks… a broken piece of a fallen pillar. "I won't take another step until you can assure me that this isn't all some kind of--"

_Please…_ The voice she heard softened; became almost pleading. _You don't want to see me trapped here forever…?_

"Yes… well…" she said, almost huffing the words.

_Why not take them out… see how pretty they are… watch them shining in the sun…_

A playful smile crossed her face, and as though speaking to a child, to Alex as a little boy perhaps… _Dear sweet Alex_… she said, "Oh all right."

Reaching up she took hold of the thong on which she had threaded them all, quashing a brief pang of regret that she had needed to get rid of the Eye of Horus that had once adorned the dark leather. The bells wouldn't fit and keep that too.

"Such a pity," she said to herself.

The sound was light at first, but gathered as first one and then the next of the bells touched together as she drew them forth from where they nestled against her breast.

Growing in volume and magnitude, the sound awakened the power held in the small discs of gold, awakened still further the rage that had taken her mind, had driven her to do such terrible things.

Terrible things…

The leather trembled in her hands and the bells of the sistrum sounded again… driving away her remorse, her regret… filling her with the question that had driven her and let the darkness into her soul. How could they? Cruel, capricious gods to take so young a child and keep her from her mother, cast her down into the dark sleep of death when but a few moments from the womb.

She put back her head and screamed, shaking the hand that held the bells and filling herself with the power of the Shadow Usert… welcoming in the touch of Nebkhat.

"_Are you tired, my love?" she asked, running her fingers down his back and feeling the way he pulled her against him more firmly._

"_Never too tired to pleasure you, my heart."_

_He took her hand then, leading her further into his chamber, into his bed, joining with her in unmatched fiery passion; possessing every inch of her body until she was dizzy with it – drunk on his touch and powerless against the pulse of his life inside her._

Drunk with the essence of the power and the vision... the memory, she pushed herself to her feet, and staggered through the dips and hollows, and the broken pillars.

* * *

Ardeth squinted and shielded his eyes, unsure if what he was seeing was really there. The desert played tricks… heat lured the unsuspecting to his death with the false promise of water and of structures to lend shade in the unending sand. He slowed Marhana still further, and looked again.

"I say," the doctor said, pointing in the same direction he was looking, "do you see--?"

"Yes," he answered, finally deciding that the lone, black clad figure atop a horse that was weaving and swaying one way and then another, was in fact real, and not a mirage.

"Is that--?"

"Yes."

"Should we--?"

This time he did not answer, but spurred Marhana toward the distressed Medjai, knowing the others would follow.

He reached over to grasp the reins of the other horse, drawing it to a stop so that he could dismount and help the barely conscious warrior down and lower him to the ground.

"Ahm Shere," the warrior moaned, "the creature… the book…"

"He's delirious," Doctor Hamlyn suggested, frowning, concern showing on her face. She looked round at Jonathan and then back to Ardeth who was shaking his head.

"No," he told them all. "This is one of the warriors that were set to guard the location of Ahm Shere once the creature was entombed there."

O'Connell groaned. "Please don't tell me--" he started.

"It would seem so." Ardeth nodded with a sigh.

"Who _are_ these people anyway?" O'Connell asked, "You said that you had seen the robe before, back there in the cave."

"They are the warriors that have been battling with the Medjai of the Ninth Tribe. We had thought that it was a small warrior cult, connected with a region just beyond the borders of the Ninth Tribe's homelands. Now I am not so sure that it is only that. It is written that there exists a buried temple in that region dedicated to the goddess Nephthys and her husband the god Seth."

Jonathan whimpered, "And you didn't think to tell me this before?"

"I did not think these things connected, my friend," he said apologetically, "Not before this moment."

"So what are you thinking?" O'Connell asked. "That these guys have unearthed the temple and are trying to… to what?"

Ardeth shook his head, "I do not know, but if they have, and have uncovered the creature and intend to use the power of the Sistrum--"

"Then we're in for a world of hurt," O'Connell finished.

"Erm," the doctor said, "I don't mean to interrupt your little sunny conversation over there, but shouldn't someone be seeing to your friend?"

Ardeth looked up into the doctor's face. Watched as she almost shrank back into Jonathan's arms, away from the serious, but sad expression on his face and said, "There is nothing that anyone can do for this man, Doctor Hamlyn. His injuries are too great and we are too far from any of the twelve tribes to get him to a healer."

"What, so you're just going to let him die?"

"No," he said simply, and turning his back on the woman, he knelt beside his dying warrior. He was not a warrior of first tribe and Ardeth did not know his name, but he felt both sorrow and admiration rise in his heart for the warrior about to travel to Allah's side.

"What is your name, my warrior?" he asked.

"Ghaffar, First Medjai," the man gasped, barely able to make the words heard.

"You have done well, Ghaffar," he said softly, "In coming to me, to warn your people of the danger you have proved yourself to be one of the bravest and best warriors of the Medjai."

O'Connell pulled the covering from his head, Jonathan likewise took off his hat, reaching over to swat at Alex's arm until he too showed the proper respect.

"Oh my god, he's not--?" Doctor Hamlyn hissed.

"'Fraid so," Jonathan said quietly. "Honestly, it's for the best, there's nothing any of us can do except…"

Ardeth watched Jonathan shrug and then turned his eyes back to meet those of his fallen warrior.

Ghaffar looked up at him and he nodded, whispering, "Thank you."

"It is time."

Ardeth's voice was quiet and gentle as he took the man into an embrace and bore witness to the final prayer his warrior gave to Allah, the Shahadah; the final words of the dying.

"Sleep now, my brother," he said, and swiftly, cleanly snapped Ghaffar's neck, remaining still and breathing deeply before he laid the Honoured Medjai back onto the earth and closed his eyes.

He noticed that the doctor, wisely, did not say anything when, some minutes later, he stood and returned to the others.

"This changes things, my friend," he said to O'Connell, "I need you to go and warn the Ninth Tribe, have them gather their warriors and be ready to ride."

"Ardeth," O'Connell started to argue, "even if they would listen to me, which I doubt, I'd never find them. I don't know where they are."

"Marhana will take you," he said, and led his stallion toward O'Connell. "He knows the way,"

"What about you?" his friend asked.

"I will ride Sarii' and go to Hamunaptra as we had originally planned."

"But you don't know if these guys are going there, how many there will be. We should all go to Ninth Tribe and bring back--"

"There is no time for that," he said. "You must do as I ask, O'Connell, for it is the only way to guard against the terror that would follow if these people were to use the Sistrum to awaken the god of Chaos and unleash his evil upon the earth."

* * *

Meiri had recovered herself enough to lift the belly of the goddess back into place, but her mind was still reeling with visions… warnings of what was to come. She had to leave, get away from there. She had to find the temple she had seen in her vision that was hidden in the rocks and be ready to once more open herself to the power of the goddess Isis; to surrender and allow herself to be subsumed as part of the divine mother of Horus. It was the only way she could be free… it was the only way _any_ of them would live…

…but she was tired… so tired and lost…

She leaned her head once more against the cool stone of the goddess' belly.

_My strength shall be near thee, my strength shall be near thee, for ever_.

A sound… it was a tiny sound she heard, like a cry on the wind or the rattle of a horse's riding tack, but a shiver of warning passed over her. If she did not leave now…

* * *

He had never been more relieved to see the ruin that was Hamunaptra, the once resplendent temple reduced to a falling down heap of rubble and debris. At this moment it did not matter to him how much of the wealth of Egypt still lay buried deep under the sand, just that he reach the temple, and the shrine of Isis so that he could retrieve the cradle, or perhaps find Meiri still here and take them both home, to safety in the shelter of the Kharga Oasis.

Having no fear of the Medjai he saw on the cliffs, signalling to them in the secret way that showed he was Medjai, and was checking more closely on the temple ruins, he tethered Sarii' to one of the fallen pillars, and made his way quickly through the courtyard toward the shrines at the back of the rocky enclave.

They were cut into the foundation of the earth, the rocks that were littered around the Sahara, and had somehow survived the worst of the destruction wrought on Hamunaptra when Seti's trap was triggered and the temple sealed itself against intrusion, and had been largely untouched in the excavations that Meela and her servants had undertaken afterwards.

His heart sank a little as he reached the shrine to Isis and listening, found it empty. He had hoped so hard to find her here, waiting for him; had pictured her standing in front of the carving of Isis, holding the cradle to her heart and almost crying with relief as he walked down the steps into the cool shade of the room. But it had been a false hope.

* * *

Hearing a sound behind her, she turned away from the carved figure and knew that she had to act now, she had to move now or all her plans… all the things she hoped for… desired… would come to nothing and she would be consumed… lost in the pain and rage of all that was to come.

Turning quickly back to carving, her eyes searched the dark spaces in the corner of the shrine for a place to hide, for a place to wait until she could safely go on with all that she had to do.

* * *

Ardeth took the steps quickly, wasting little time. He had to know if the cradle was in the appointed place. He had to take it and keep it safe. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he raised his arms to the belly of the goddess, and let his fingers find the tips of the feathers that were the locking mechanism holding the stone cover in place.

The click sounded deafening to him as the cool stone all but fell into his hand. It was a sigh of relief that next disturbed the silence as he saw the wrapped shape of the cradle shadowed in the cavity behind. He lowered the stone to the floor and reached within, to take the artefact.

* * *

In the silence that followed after she had hidden the blood red heat began to lift. She peered out at the figure in the middle of the shrine. She watched him turn away from the cavity he had revealed, carrying in his hand the very thing she had been looking for. He would understand. He would help her. She could trust him.

"Ardeth," she called out to him, stepping out of the shadows.

The movement stirred the bells that still hung around her neck and even in the sanctity of Usert's own shrine, the dark pall that was cast over them rose and strengthened to flow once more over and through the body of the tormented woman that carried them and moved her to act against the Medjai warrior of Isis… Osiris risen.

It happened so quickly, neither of them could have saved themselves if they had tried. The sound and the rage descended on her even as she moved, her hand found the stone cover from the statue of Isis and she swung it hard toward his head where it connected with a sickening crack.

* * *

He felt detached from everything, his head ached and he could feel blood running from the gash on his head. When he opened his eyes, his vision blurred, darkened and then returned more blurred than ever. Someone moved nearby, and he tried to get his tongue to form the words to ask for help.

"_Hush, my heart… you are hurt… let me help you…"_

The voice was soft, calming… but there was something wrong… something not quite right. He couldn't place it.

"Where… where am I?" he managed to barely whisper.

"_Safe… Safe and loved."_

The voice resonated with a power that should not have been.

"Meiri…?"

"_Are you tired, my love?"_

The touch of a hand ran down his chest. His robes were unfastened and he could not feel the weight of his protective amulets against his skin.

"What…?" He tried to reach and grasp her hand, unsure… unsure and feeling as though darkness was creeping over him. "Meiri…?"

"_You were hurt…"_

"I remember," he whispered, "my head…"

He reached up to try and touch the gash that still felt untended to him, but a hand caught his, and drew his fingers into the warm wet softness of a mouth. He moaned quietly.

"_My love… my heart… you know, you understand…"_

She moved closer and straddled him, leaned down and breathed hot kisses against his neck. She pressed herself against him whispering words of passion, words of power to awaken him to life… words of an ancient power… of an ancient and forbidden love.

He gasped, feeling the intensity of it rising in him. He felt as though he was drowning, fighting to breathe, fighting against the strength gathering in his limbs… drowning until he moved his hand, lifting his fingers to bury them in her long hair and guide those torturous kisses toward his lips.

She teased him, moving away, resisting his kisses and keeping the heat of her waters away from the need she had kindled in him.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and rolled over, so that he was over her, so that he could claim her as the power demanded, as he knew she wanted. His dark curls fell over her face, and he gave himself to her in the wake of the passionate emotion that consumed him.

A gasp and the arms around him became tense for all of a heartbeat, before they relaxed, before they pulled him again toward her and she moaned as he claimed her, joining with her in unmatched fiery passion. He possessed every inch of her body until they were dizzy with it – drunk on shared touch, and on the force that moved them both… powerless against the pulse of his life inside them.

"_Osiris!"_

She gasped as their union was fulfilled.

It was the last thing he heard before consciousness faded.

* * *

Weeping…

Evy couldn't stop weeping… every time she turned around she saw him…

She remembered waking beside him on the sandy stone floor… aching and swollen, confused at the lingering feelings of need she felt, and terrified at the trembling she still felt at her centre… confused and terrified, knowing somehow it had been her doing, not his alone.

She remembered trying to wake him… trying to move him and when she could not she tucked his robes around him and wrapped his head to try and stem the flow of blood.

The image haunted her.

…_face down in a spreading stain of blood… a robed figure… dark curls spilling from beneath a wrapped head…_

"What have I done…?" She moaned, rocking back and forth, looking at the pieces of the sistrum spread on the ground in front of her. "Ardeth… what have I done?"

Slowly, she reached out in her misery and began to put the pieces together and assemble the Sistrum of Usert.


	15. Or Die Trying

Angel of the Heart Chapter 15 

"Are you quite sure this… this…" Jennifer looked over at O'Connell as he peered out across the sand. Several hours had passed since they left the Nile floodplain and headed out into the open desert again.

"Horse, lady," O'Connell answered her in a tone that she took to mean that he was tired of her questioning him, "He's a horse."

"Yes, I'm sure he is," she huffed, "But are you sure he's leading us in the right direction?"

"We'll know soon enough," O'Connell answered.

"What do you mean?"

"When we either find them, or die trying," he answered in a very sarcastic voice indeed.

"Honestly, Mister O'Connell, there's no need to take that tone with me," she snapped, hot and uncomfortable, and worrying about Jonathan who was becoming increasingly silent and withdrawn the further into the desert they travelled.

"Dad," the young man, barely more than a boy, she felt, though others were treating him differently, called to his father and pointed ahead of them, and a little way to the right.

"I see it Alex," O'Connell nodded.

"What?" she asked, "What is it that you see?"

"Rocks… rocks and shade and green," Alex said, sounding excited. "It's not much further, look."

Jennifer peered in the direction he was pointing, trying to see the rocks. She saw nothing but the heat rising off the desert, distorting the air with its deadly shimmering emptiness. Perhaps she wasn't looking right. Perhaps being unused to travelling the Sahara desert, as these men had done _many_ times before, she had not learned whatever trick they had of seeing past the deceitful beast waiting to kill all those who wandered, like parasites over its back.

She shivered, trying to catch hold of her imagination before she personified the desert as the very embodiment of Satan himself.

"I…" she began haltingly, "I don't see anything."

"You will… relax," O'Connell assured her.

"That or they'll see us and come out shooting first, and asking questions never," Jonathan mumbled behind her.

"Relax, Jonathan," O'Connell told him. "They're our friends."

"If you say so, old boy," was all the answer Jonathan offered.

* * *

"What did you do?"

The child Nebkhat swept down on him as he reclined, eating fruit from a low table beside the couch. Imhotep fixed a knowing smile onto his face, but declined to answer her question. It evidently irritated her, as she swept her arm all along the table, casting fruit laden dishes, and plates of meats and cheese and bread to the floor of the temple apartment.

"What did you _do!_"

Clicking his tongue in disapproval of her outburst, he raised a hand and closing his eyes, drew an arc along the table top, redressing the table as though she had never thrown everything to the floor.

"Temper, my little Nebkhat," he murmured, propping himself up a little. "Did you never consider there was perhaps another way… a _better_ way?"

"What do you mean?" she demanded of him, propping her hands on her little hips. "Everything was prepared. We were ready. The woman Miranda--"

"Will never bear the child you seek to bring," he said, interrupting.

"You have seen this?" Nebkhat appeared to be surprised.

"I know it to be true," he answered, and swung his feet under him, rising from the couch effortlessly. He was at her side in but a fraction of the time it took to draw breath and continued darkly, "What I do not yet understand, is why _you_ do not."

"But everything led me this way," she said, "All the things I've seen, the visions--"

She stopped as he was shaking his head and climbed up onto a nearby chair so that she might be face to face with him.

"You have deceived yourself with what you think you saw, with touches about her you thought you recognised. Miranda is no fit vessel for our divine child."

"But the one you--" she started to argue with him, pouting.

"Have trust, Nebkhat… my Nebkhat… for I know what I have done." He smiled again; that same knowing smile, for he knew indeed… and it suited his agenda very well.

* * *

"Friends, Mister O'Connell?"

Rick groaned inwardly at the fearful grating tone in Jennifer's voice as he, as had the others, raised his hands. Faced with staring down the business end of at least a dozen rifles, there seemed to be little choice in doing so.

"Trust me," he said as steadily as he could, "We'll be fine. Ardeth--"

The butt of a rifle connected with the side of his head, dazing him, and hands grabbed him roughly to pull him from the saddle. He was pinned on his knees, his arms bent behind him to hold him in place.

"Dad…!" Alex yelped, snapping him out of the daze.

"Stay where you are, Alex," he hissed, trying to stop his son from dismounting. Already too late, he heard his son yelp again, and struggled to rise, to stop them from hurting him.

"Wait, WAIT!" he called out, hoping that _someone_ among the Medjai patrol would at least understand if not believe him. "Ardeth _sent_ us here. He sent us to warn--"

He was rewarded by the kiss of another rifle butt and someone yelled at him in Arabic.

"He sent us here to tell you--"

"Some friends!" It was Jennifer that cut him off this time, as she was led, somewhat more gently he noted, to kneel beside him. Jonathan too… the four of them kneeling in the sand as their horses were led away.

"You will tell the woman to stop speaking, or it will be bad for you."

The voice was heavily accented, but at least it was English that was being spoken to them this time. His relief was short lived however as the voice continued.

"Among the Medjai, there is the most severe penalty for the stealing of horses," the warrior said, moving to where Rick could see him. "These are horses from warriors of our First Tribe."

"We did not _steal_ the horses," Jennifer huffed at the man. "They were--"

She squeaked as the warrior crouched in the sand beside her more quickly than Rick had seen a man move in a long time and gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. Rick started to struggle with his captors again, just a little, feeling it was his chivalric duty to protect the woman. When the warrior spoke again, something in the tone made him stop struggling and look over at him.

"You would be well advised, my Lady, to heed the words spoken to you here and to obey. Warriors of the Ninth are not accustomed to having their instructions questioned by a woman."

The man crouching in front of Jennifer was young, perhaps in his mid to late twenties. As most natives of the country his hair was black. He was clean shaven, and though his eyes were narrowed into hardened lines, it did not entirely extinguish the warm spark that was there in their rich chocolate hue. More than that, though, he was trying to warn her, to warn them all, perhaps, that the Medjai they had so far met were in some way more lenient than those of this tribe.

The warning, evidently, had gone straight over the doctor's head, as she struggled against the warrior's touch, pushing against him and demanding, "Let me go!"

"Um, Jenny," he said, hoping to attract her attention more fully by shortening her name, by being over familiar with her. It worked somewhat for as soon as she was free of the warrior's touch she turned a glare toward him that would have stopped a rampaging hippopotamus in its tracks. Rick, however, was more audacious than the average hippo and continued, "maybe just this once it would be wise to do as they tell us to do… You know? When in Rome…"

"What are you--?" she spluttered at him as he trailed off, still indignant at the treatment she had so far received at the hands of these Medjai.

"Jennifer, please…" Jonathan's soft, almost whimpered plea silenced her. "Do as they say and they won't hurt us. Please do as they say."

Rick closed his eyes and sighed at the tone in Jonathan's voice. He was desperate, terrified… and more than a little lost.

"All right, Jonathan," she whispered back trying, unsuccessfully, to reach for his hand.

Rick looked up and met the large brown eyes of the warrior who, apparently satisfied that there would be no more trouble from the woman, came to stand in front of him.

"I am Jamal al-Farhaas and since I speak your language it would appear that I must be your advocate here. So tell me… how is it that you ride horses of First Tribe?"

"I tried to tell you," Rick started, mildly enough, "Ardeth sent us here to warn you… to tell you about trouble… out there…"

He nodded in the direction of the desert beyond the rocks, and the warrior, Jamal, turned his head to look in that direction.

"Who are you?" he asked, frowning.

"Rick O'Connell, my son Alex… brother-in-law Jonathan and doc--."

"O'Connell?" Jamal turned back to him. "I have heard that name. A man named O'Connell led the Medjai in the battle of Ma'abid Usertim."

"That's me," Rick said with a sigh. "Battled to get Ardeth _into _that temple and bring him out alive, then fought _with_ him to bring the place to its knees."

"Then you are a friend to the Medjai," Jamal said, a slow smile spreading over his face.

He clearly understood that Rick alluded to the fact that Ardeth had been dead when they first reached the temple, and that was why O'Connell was leading the Medjai, and that he had fought along side the newly resurrected First Medjai in the battle that had destroyed Seth's hold over the temple.

"And they are brothers to me," Rick said softly, sincerely, looking straight into Jamal's eyes. To his relief, Jamal gave a few words of instruction to the rest of the Medjai, and he was released… the others too.

"I must apologise for our welcome of you, Rick O'Connell." Jamal offered his hand to help him to rise, and Rick took it, clasping the man's forearm.

"No hard feelings," he told him.

"You… speak for yourself," Jennifer spat the words in Rick's direction before she fixed her angry stare onto the Medjai.

Jamal ignored her, which of course was an even greater insult to the woman, who muttered angrily as she straightened her crumpled clothing.

"Now, tell me of what you speak," Jamal led Rick a step or two away from the others, "the danger that brings you here to warn us."

Rick nodded, and urgently began to regale Jamal with the whole story while the others prepared for the ride back to the Oasis of the Ninth tribe, where he would have to persuade the tribe's leadership of the need to prepare for battle as Ardeth had told him would be necessary.

* * *

Rashid led the Chosen swiftly up the track toward the perch where he knew he would find the patrol watching the city. Their leader greeted him respectfully.

"Honoured Second."

"We must prepare to defend the city," Rashid told him, wasting no time, needing the two dozen of them to be ready at the entrance to Hamunaptra when the time came.

"I do not understand," the man frowned in confusion. "None have disturbed the sands of Hamunaptra in many days."

"I do not have time to explain," Rashid told him, "Only to tell you of a band of ruffians, even now is riding towards the temple. We _must_ stop them."

He could see the other man trying to read the sincerity and urgency in the expression on his face and opened himself to the other man's eyes.

"Our orders are to confront any that trespass as they _leave_ the City of the Dead, Rashid Khalifah, you know that," he said at last.

"And this time, that would be the wrong thing to do. Very wrong," he said calmly. "There are forces at work here that we cannot trust to be allowed to set even a foot within the grounds of Hamunaptra. Please, obey my command and have your men ready to follow the Chosen when we ride. For we ride, whether you accompany us or not."

He turned then and began to brief the others of the Chosen, pointing out the places in the battle strategy he had been forming in his mind on the journey toward the city, as much to keep his mind from worrying too much about Ghayda as to be ready with a battle plan once they arrived.

"Honoured second?" The patrol leader interrupted him again after only a few minutes. He cocked a querying eyebrow in the other man's direction. "A warrior of the Medjai entered the city several hours ago. He gave the correct signs so we believe all is in order."

"Hours ago?" Rashid asked in alarm.

"Yes, Honoured Second," the answer came from one of the others in the patrol. "but he has not yet emerged."

"And you are sure there have been no others come to the City in that time?"

"We have seen no one," the patrol leader answered again, sounding somewhat indignant this time.

Rashid ignored the man's tone, his mind racing along many pathways of possibility, making it fit with what he knew, trying to work out the truth of what was going on. His thoughts were interrupted by an urgent cry from the lookout.

"Riders! Riders approaching the city!"

"We have no more time," he snapped at the patrol leader. "Follow me, or not. The decision rest in you. Yallah! Nimshe!"

As one, the Chosen swept down toward the City of the Dead. The pounding of their horses' hooves sent up a storm cloud of sand in their wake. Every man followed the call of his duty… to be first to reach Hamunaptra and once again defend against the trespass of those foolish enough to try and enter the Forbidden City.

* * *

He saw them coming, a great, black, dusty whirlwind charging toward them… to intercept them before they got to the temple to find what it was their masters wanted… and obviously wanted very badly, given the weapon they'd entrusted to him.

All he had to do, Ananiah had told him, was wait until they were within sight of the temple and then open the seal on the jar, and tip the contents onto the ground. It would create warriors, great warrior able to defeat the Medjai that would no doubt ride against them and allow them… allow _him_ to be victorious, and successful in retrieving the artefact that they wanted.

He liked to succeed, and so it was that his fingers picked at the seal even as they rode toward Hamunaptra.

* * *

Bi'Sur'a shied, reared and almost tossed his rider from his back to the ground. It was only his superior horsemanship that let Rashid stay atop the terrified horse as the sand around him and in front of him began to bubble.

It writhed and seethed, a red stain that was unmistakably blood seeping across the sands toward the Medjai and rising into slow forming, but terrifying figures. Taller than the Medjai, and red from the tips of their scaly heads to the bottoms of their powerful feet, the snake headed Warriors of Seth hissed in rage and advanced upon the Guardians of Hamunaptra.

"Heads!" Rashid cried, drawing his blade quickly and urging his horse forward once more toward his opponents in the battle. "Take their heads!"

His warriors, yelling out battle cries, surged forward at his side, swords drawn, into the chaos of the deadly melee.

* * *

Jennifer had never felt so out of place and uncomfortable since the first of her days at university, where her presence had been scorned and her ability questioned at every turn. Here, at el-Hiba, Oasis of the Ninth Tribe of the Medjai, she was simply… ignored.

Well no, ignored was not the right word, not at all right… but she didn't know quite what word would adequately describe the way she was being treated by the Medjai in this place.

They had been courteous enough. When they arrived she had been given into the care of a young Medjai woman called Fajr. Well… even that was not accurate… she cast her mind back to their arrival at el-Hiba.

_She did not realise she was so saddle sore until she dismounted on the packed grassy ground of the Oasis, she shifted a little trying to let the movement bring some kind of relief to her thighs and buttocks which felt as though someone had lit a fire against them._

_Many Medjai had turned out to meet the incoming patrol. Young men, dressed the same as the warriors, but without the facial tattoos came to take the reins of the horses and lead them away… And women, at least, she thought they were women, for they were covered head to foot in dark veils that shielded them completely from the scrutiny of others. The women met some of the warrior, carrying water, a small portion of which they tipped over the hands of the men in some kind of blessing, and then offered up the rest of the water in the shallow dishes for them to drink._

_She felt many eyes looking at her, felt the burning of their disapproval, and saw the warrior, Jamal, looking around among the gathered Medjai, as though searching for someone._

"_Fajr," he called at last, and then gave instruction to a veiled figure that stepped forward._

_There was a light touch on her arm, and a soft woman's voice, young sounding and heavily… very heavily accented bid her, "Follow, please."_

_O'Connell nodded when she looked doubtfully in his direction. "We'll find you," he told her. "I get the feeling these people have… well… just go with her… please?"_

_She huffed slightly, but followed the young woman anyway, thinking that she should treat this as an opportunity to take more, albeit mental, notes on the culture of these Medjai._

_She was led to a dwelling of wood and canvass, ushered inside to a small antechamber. There was a low table at the side of the doorway on which stood a small jug and a bowl._

_Fajr took the jug and poured some water into the bowl, adding the petals of a flower that by their scent could have been from a rose, though not any seen by Jennifer._

"_Please wash here hands and sit." Fajr indicated a low stool at the side of the room with her hand, palm open and up, then as Jennifer did as she asked, Fajr reached up to raise the front portion of her veil over the top of her head._

_Jennifer almost gasped at how young the woman looked, though she had no idea why the woman's age should have surprised her. Like most of her people, her eyes were a coffee brown and her hair a deep brown, almost black. She kept her eyes downcast though, Jenny noted and her hair was bound into a single braid that pulled it back from her face. Her skin was smooth and relatively pale and her cheeks were high. Her nose was a sharp strong shape at the centre of her face and was neither too long, nor too sharp as to give her a shrewish look as it could have done. She was not unattractive, in fact quite the opposite._

_Jennifer turned her attention to what she was doing, enjoying the cold of the water over her leather-roughened fingers, enjoying the feeling of the dusty sand washing away from her flesh. When she was done, she sat and Fajr took the bowl from the table, swilling the dusty contents into a bucket that only now did Jenny notice sat beside the table._

"_Off boot please, lady," Fajr said as she turned back to Jennifer._

"_What?" Jennifer asked, "Oh no, really, that isn't necessary."_

"_Yes, is so," Fajr answered, looking worried, perhaps afraid for a moment, "Son of me father brother command. Is so."_

_It took Jennifer several seconds to understand what she had meant and this caused the young woman to look stricken as she poured fresh water into the bowl and added more petals._

"_Please," she said urgently, "He say me for you care. Please off boot."_

_Moved then by the woman's fear, and somewhat angered by it too, Jennifer reached down and removed her boots, baring her feet to the woman who knelt before her, and carefully bathed her feet._

_Her anger somewhat dissipated as the cool water washed the fire from her feet and the soft scent of the flowers wafted up to wrap around her._

"_Thank you," Jennifer said as the woman dried her feet on the almost angelic softness of a cloth. She simply had not realised how uncomfortable she had been riding the desert with the O'Connells, and for a second time wondered at her wisdom in getting involved at all._

"_Follow, please," Fajr asked her, rising to her feet. "We find dressing for you wear."_

"_Oh now really," Jennifer protested, indicating her clothes with a wave of her hand, "I _have_ clothing."_

"_Is not proper," Fajr bit her lip, looking up at the woman, "You walk in under-things."_

_Jennifer looked at herself again. She was covered… she frowned a little, then blushed, realising perhaps that was exactly what it looked like to the Medjai, that she was walking around in her underwear even though such underwear was of a length to cover all of her legs, like loose fitting pants. She had discarded the long dress that Ardeth's wife had given her to wear, finding that she kept getting tangled in the reins and caught on the saddle of the horse she had ridden. Now she wore only the flared sirwal and the close fitting tank top she had worn beneath the dress._

"_Oh," she said. "I'm… sorry."_

"_Follow, we make right." Fajr gave her a small, almost embarrassed smile and led her further into her home, through the main room with the central fireplace, and cushions on which to sit, to a smaller room at the rear that was quite obviously a bedroom, where she was given another set of clothes, similar to the ones that Ashna had given to her. Only the addition of the outer gauzy, dark coloured veils was different._

_Fajr turned her back to allow the other woman to dress, before sitting her down once more._

"_You marry woman?" she asked._

"_What?" Jennifer asked, misunderstanding. "Of course I don't intend to marry I--"_

"_So sorry, forgive, I get word wrong. You have husband man?"_

"_Oh, oh, no… and no need to apologise, you are very good with your English," she said graciously, "But no. I am not married."_

And so it was she found herself now, walking around the oasis, overlooked by almost everyone. Her hair was tightly braided underneath the veils; surprisingly cool in the many layers of clothing she now wore, but having to shake sand and small pebbles from her sandaled feet with every alternate step.

"Where the hell is O'Connell," she muttered to herself as she meandered uncomfortably too and fro across the dusty 'streets.' She did not want to have to wait for him to _find_ her. She wanted to know what was going on, damn it.

_Damn them all_ she thought to herself as she almost fell over trying to get out of the way of a Medjai warrior, who seemed not to notice that she was right in his path.

* * *

"And these men were from the tribe that has constantly harried my warriors?" The Commander of the Ninth tribe, Tamim, looked at O'Connell, his expression demanding some kind of proof.

"Dark blue robes, feathered stitching at the collars and cuffs?" Rick asked calmly.

Tamim nodded and continued his measured questioning, "And our First Medjai believes that they are associated with the lost Temple of Nephthys, where a cult seeks to raise a great evil?"

"Look, Tamim," Rick was losing patience, "The seven bells from the Sistrum of Usert have been taken and their Medjai guardian's killed. Ahm Shere was attacked, and Imhotep's body," he ignored the flinch at his blatant use of the creature's name, "was dug up, along with the Book of the Dead and the Cradle of the sistrum is missing along with its… guardian." He decided it better, given the traditional nature of the Ninth Tribe, not to mention Meiri by name. "And we find one of their warriors responsible. I'd pretty much say that Ardeth is probably right to think the way he does."

Tamim sat for a long time regarding him coolly, obviously thinking… obviously considering how much weight he could give to the words of an outsider, even one sent by the First Medjai himself. Equally as obvious though, was the worry that Rick's words had woken inside him.

"If these people have assembled the Sistrum and use it without the appropriate safeguards, without the appropriate rituals and sacrifices to follow--" Tamim said at last, his voice mounting in horror as the facts met the arcane knowledge stored in his brain.

"Then the evil god Seth will be freed from his prison in the netherworld--"

"…And will take possession of a living body."

Jonathan whimpered, and pulled his knees more tightly into his chest.

"Now you're getting it," O'Connell encouraged the Medjai commander.

"If they mean to use the body of he-that-shall-not-be-named as the vessel…" he looked horrified in Rick's direction.

"Oh, he'll raise an army and wipe out the world," Rick finished in mock cheerfulness.

"The old 'wipe out the world ploy' eh?" Alex whispered to his uncle, nudging him.

Rick sighed as Jonathan ignored Alex's attempt to bring him out of his misery. He gave his son a sympathetic smile, knowing how close nephew and uncle were.

"We must prevent this," Tamim said firmly.

"Ardeth's orders were pretty clear," Rick confirmed his agreement with the Medjai commander, "He said to come here and tell you guys to be ready to ride against the temple."

"If what you say is true, O'Connell," the commander looked at him seriously, "then we can no longer afford to wait for Ardeth to bring his warriors and come and fight with us. We must leave at once."

"Now hold on," Rick held up a hand, "What good is it going to do anyone if we go rushing in there and getting ourselves killed?"

"If, as you say, they already have these things, they may already have brought Seth into this world and--"

"They haven't," Jonathan interrupted. "He's still trapped… but I hear him… here…"

Tamim frowned, "I do not understand."

Jonathan tapped his head. "In here. Pushing, always pushing me to do things… terrible things… like before, like--"

"Jonathan, that's enough!" Rick snapped.

"What is wrong with him?" the Ninth Tribe commander asked, frowning in concern.

"Ever since the last time that Seth was around, he's been… haunted," Rick chose his words carefully, "he fears it… he fears--"

"He is right to be afraid," Tamim said, relieving Rick of the need to spell out exactly why it was that Jonathan was so afraid. "And given that, _that_ is a good reason why we must ride out against these people."

"Okay," O'Connell searched frantically for a compromise. He didn't want to go riding off into battle with only the warriors of the Ninth Tribe beside him. He remembered the last time, and didn't think that they would be nearly enough. "How about this? We go quietly, just a few of us, go take a look and if you still think we haven't got the time to wait…?"

Tamim nodded after a moment. "It is a sound suggestion, my friend."

* * *

If it hadn't been for the number of tents pitched outside the heap of rocks, it would have been an unremarkable place, easily missed, but their presence revealed it… told the tale of what was hidden in the darkness, even to those without the power of vision, such as Meiri possessed.

Weary and in pain she lowered herself from the saddle, wincing as her feet touched the packed floor. She made no attempt to conceal herself, rather to lose herself by hiding in plain sight among the many women that wandered here and there through the dry shanty town of tents and horses.

She needed to get inside… into the temple. She needed to find the seat of their power and, if she could, destroy it.

If she could…

"You!" She spun around and almost tripped on her skirt. "What are you doing?"

Her heart lodged against the back of her throat. "I… I need to find some water, I--"

"Over there!" the rough looking man in dark blue robes pointed toward a larger tent, off to the side, away from the gaping dark hole in the front of the mound of rocks. "And then be off with you. No one is allowed inside. Ananiah's orders."

The beating in the back of her throat dissolved into the sick taste of fear. If she tried to get past this man again, she would be discovered…

_I will permit no violence to be done unto thee. I protect thee_

The words flowed into her, giving her strength for a moment and she shook her head.

"No?" he snapped, frowning, "What do you mean, no!"

"They need water inside," she told him.

"You don't _look_ like one of them," his eyes narrowed in suspicion and once again the fear trembling beneath the surface of her sanity possessed her.

_I stand near on the day of repelling disaster. I watch to protect thee_

"I am not," she told him, holding up a hand to stop him from interrupting. "They have asked for water inside, and I am to be the one to bring it to them."

"I wasn't told," he pouted, seeming most put out.

"Why would they tell _you_?" she asked, "It is your job to guard them, not to bring them water."

Appeased, he straightened his back a little from the slouch into which he had fallen.

"Yeah, of course," he agreed, and nodded fervently, "You're right. Well, go on then, hurry up and get your water. We don't want them kept waiting now, do we?"

_No we do not._ She thought and she walked as quickly as she could manage to fetch water from the tent he had indicated to her. Quickly, not because she feared to be discovered, but because she did not wish to give him time to unravel the tapestry of lies in which she had swaddled him.

* * *

Pain jarred along his arms as he lifted his blade to intercept the swing of the heavier khopesh, aiming for his neck. He was tired, bone weary in fact. As fast as they cut down the supernatural warriors new ones rose up to take their place. These new warriors were stronger, more insightful in battle, born from the splashes of Medjai blood that fell to the sand from the many slices and grazes the battle had caused. They fought as though they knew the very minds of their Medjai opponents.

_Of course!_

Rashid groaned as he suddenly remembered what he had heard before…

"_Rick!" Evelyn yelled._

"_Not right now, honey, Kinda busy!"_

"_No," she said, "You have to stop thinking and just act."_

"_What?" Ardeth's voice, louder with each step he took in his own battle to reach the First Medjai's side._

"_Act!" she urged them all. "They're in your head – they can see what you're going to do! Don't think, just act!"_

"Medjai!" he called, trying to ignore the bite of pain as the swing of a blade got through his defences and took a slice out of his thigh. "They are made from our blood. They are a part of us and know our intentions. Do not think! Act! Clear your minds and act!"

To a man he knew they would obey.

Stilling all natural thought he put the very essence of himself into his scimitar… feeling its weight, its balance, becoming one with the blade until he moved as a part of it. He knew with a certainty born of something almost outside of him that as long as even one of the creatures remained standing, a single splash of blood on sand would conjure another, so that all must be gone at a single point in time in order to banish the spell.

* * *

The sound of battle roused her. She was slumped over in the darkness, the sistrum trapped between her body and the body beneath hers. Now was her chance… while the battle raged… now was the only time she would get away.

She wrapped the precious sistrum in the ruined remains of her shirt and staggered to her feet.

_Yes, my servant… my daughter… come home…_

* * *

Scimitar met khopesh and Rashid whirled under the blade that was in the creatures other hand, feeling the breath of air that was the wake of the trust stirring his partly exposed chest.

Lower and lower the creatures strikes were coming at him, forcing his blade down in protection of himself. But his blade needed to be high, to take the creature's head from its body, the only way to banish it.

There was a spray of sand to his left as Nasim relieved the creature he was fighting of its life, its animation… he corrected, for they had no life. They existed only to kill.

"Retreat," he ordered the other Medjai, "Retreat and bind your wounds."

And then he spun away in the other direction, leaping to avoid the cut of a blade that would have taken his legs from under him. He did not wait to see if his warrior companion would do as he had been ordered, just followed instinctive movements to launch another attack against the unnatural creature he fought.

Swing… parry… attack and turn, a rhythm… a dance with a momentum of its own. He moved with grace, a deadly grace that against any other opponent would have ended the battle. But he was fighting himself. The creature fought as he did, matched his attacks, defended as he would have. _Act without thinking_…

The creature swung high, both khopesh and knife aiming for his head. Rashid raised his scimitar, crosswise and angled diagonally blocking the both of them. But it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough to defeat the creature… and defeat it he must, for the silence around him told him as surely as words that his warrior brothers were free of attack, that it was to him now they all looked, if not literally, to break the spell that kept them breathless and exhausted in battle…

He twisted his hand, ignoring the bite of sharpened steel that opened the side of it, needing to free his blade from confinement, to roll it around his hand, catch the hilt again in spite of the slickness of his blood now flowing.

Fast… he had to be fast… he had to take the creature's head before his blood, already falling toward the ground, touched the sand.

He threw his arms out wide, inviting the creature to lunge for his heart, holding his breath as he held ground against the terrifying certainty of death…

His scimitar slid free as the creature drew back its blades and lunged. Arms wide Rashid flicked his wrist, sending his weapon into a whirling dervish dance toward the creature.

Already committed to its own action, the warrior of Seth could do nothing as the sharp tempered steel blade sliced into, and through its neck and it exploded in a stinging shower of sand that upset the momentum of the turning blade and sent it down in obedience to gravity…

…as obedient as the drop of Rashid's blood that fell, harmless now, to the ground beside it.

Exhausted, Rashid dropped to his knees, and along with his warrior brothers sang out aloud in praise of Allah.

* * *

There were no painted walls to form this temple, only the dark of obsidian that reflected the darkness back on itself, reflecting in all directions from the stone that was carved in patterns like the scales of a snake.

Seth guarded the way into his divine wife's most holy of holies like a jealous lover, guarding against Nephthys sharing her favour with any other man… or god. But share she had… or rather she had taken… taken from her husband's brother, that which rightly belonged to her bright sister Isis. Conceiving death itself in those moments of dark passion…

_He stood as she entered and she gasped at his magnificence. He was shining with it. His dark hair fell in curls around his shoulders. The muscles on his oiled chest flexed as he held out his strong hands toward her and lower, beneath the drape of cloth that covered him, his firmly shaped thighs and calves bunched and relaxed as they carried him closer._

"_Sister," he said, and for a moment her heart sank as she thought he had seen through her deception. "Wife," he added in an altogether different tone as he wrapped her in his embrace and bent his head to drink deeply of her willing mouth._

"_Are you tired, my love?" she asked, running her fingers down his back and feeling the way he pulled her against him more firmly._

"_Never too tired to pleasure you, my heart."_

_He took her hand then, leading her further into his chamber, into his bed, joining with her in unmatched fiery passion; possessing every inch of her body until she was dizzy with it – drunk on his touch and powerless against the pulse of his life inside her._

The steps were slick and dark. Even with the torches that flickered along the scaled walls of the tunnel like entry way into the temple she could barely see where next to put her feet. The cobbles turned her ankles first one way, and then the other as she stumbled, almost in tears, through the hateful darkness that was threatening to suffocate her… stifle her goodness.

At last she crossed the walkway between the steps and the inner doorway; passed beyond the stench of the rotted and still decaying creatures that fell pray to whatever horrors lay at the bottom of the deep pits either side of the cobbled path, only to be made dizzy by the heavy scent of incense. Presumably it was kept burning here to guard against that terrible smell from without. She stumbled, fell to one knee, which bruised against the antechamber floor, and was at once confronted with the rattle of many weapon being cocked.

"Give me one good reason we shouldn't shoot you where you sta… erm, stumble?" a voice demanded.

"I was sent for water," she answered faintly, still trying to get her breath, trying to be convincing.

"I don't think so," he said, and as she looked up, he raised his weapon and lowered his face to take aim. His movements were mirrored by the men each side of him.

"The water was a good idea," she closed her eyes, recognising the voice of the newcomer at once, and understanding the words he spoke as they came into her head.

"Imhotep," she said in greeting.

"Daughter of my blood," he inclined his head, returning the greeting, and walked between Meiri and the guns all pointed her way. The barrels lowered to the ground as though each had a great weight resting on the ends of them.

"I am _nothing_ of your blood," she told him, ignoring his hand and rising to her feet by herself. "Asru's father was no abomination."

"Even so, your ancestress was born of my seed, and there is little either of us can do now to refute it," he told her softly, "So why do we not stop fighting, be the family we are and unite, as once I offered to you."

"As before, I come to destroy a thing of evil, not to unite with it." She ignored his still outstretched hand.

"And once again I tell you that it is a thing of power, not of evil," he countered.

"And you of all people should know the difference!" she spat.

"Satenisetnophret--"

"My name is Meirionnydd."

"You mistake my purpose," he went on, ignoring her correction. "Already I have worked to undo the harm that those here would wreak upon creation."

_She moved closer and straddled him, leaned down and breathed hot kisses against his neck. She pressed herself against him whispering words of passion, words of power to awaken him to life… words of an ancient power… of an ancient and forbidden love… He wrapped his arm around her waist and rolled over, so that he was over her, so that he could claim her as the power demanded, as he knew she wanted. His dark curls fell over her face, and he gave himself to her in the wake of the passionate emotion that consumed him… A gasp and the arms around him became tense for all of a heartbeat, before they relaxed, before they pulled him again toward her and she moaned as he claimed her, joining with her in unmatched fiery passion. He possessed every inch of her body until they were dizzy with it – drunk on shared touch, and on the force that moved them both… powerless against the pulse of his life inside them._

Meiri moaned, pushing away the sight of it… the vision of the truth and sudden knowledge of who it was, and what had been done.

"You work to serve only your own ends," she accused, not believing his sweet sounding, serpent tongue for even one minute.

"Perhaps," he agreed, stepping closer to her and tilting his head a little as he looked down at her. "Or perhaps, as before, I wish to preserve the balance and guard the world against this evil you so fear."

"You wish for the power of Seth, there can be _no_ balance in that. We have _seen_ what his presence brings." She denied him again, remaining still as he stepped right up against her, in spite of almost drowning in the overwhelming essence of the power flowing from him.

"_Then perhaps_," this time the voice was not entirely his own, "_you are correct, My sweet Usert, My sister… Perhaps My only motive is to see restitution for My dear brother's betrayal_." And even as she tried to twist aside, he leaned down and kissed her, darkly passionate.

When he released her, breathless and trembling, her knees folded under her and she fell to the floor.

"_Bring her_," he commanded. "_Soon enough My brother, Osiris, shall come. Then We shall see the world brought to right._"

* * *

It was a melodic voice, like the gentle bubbling of sweet water over parched rocks, giving them life, washing them in their cool sweet touch…

_My warrior, My child… My love…_

His head ached, he felt weak, dizzy and sick… but more than that, drained, as if some great magnetic force had drawn forth his strength and left him a faded shadow of himself, but at the touch of the voice that had so often saved him… had been with him all of his adult life, even as that shadow he tried to open his eyes.

"Meiri, why?" he breathed, confused and uncomprehending. The pounding in his head intensified. "What did I do wrong…?"

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his head, he pushed himself up to all fours, and then fumbled with one hand, trying to straighten his clothing, trying to pull himself together. Another wave of dizziness sapped his strength and he fell forward, only just managing to roll to his side in time to prevent falling onto his face.

"I have not forsaken you," he said, tears welling in his eyes, "I only did what you told me to do… you told me--"

_Hush, troubled love… do not struggle so. It was not Your doing, but Hers that brought You to walk this path and just as I forgive Her, how could I not forgive You? You have both wronged me, and yet neither of You has. Rest now… and trust in love._

The cool touch of a hand passed over his brow, soothing the ache. Soothing his pain as Her touch always did.

"Why?" he asked, his voice still but a breath, "Why didn't you--?"

_It was my power she used. How can I fight myself?_

She sounded so sad that the tears gathering in his eyes spilled out to wash like the Nile in flood over his cheeks.

_Trust in love… for it is the only strength we have left… and now, since my Priestess is gone to him, I must leave this place. Find me. Find her… Save Us._

"Wait!" he tried to call out, to sit up and call out to her.

_Save… Us…_

"Ardeth!"

Just as he would have sagged back down against the sand covered stone of the shrine floor, he felt strong arms close around him in support.

"Ardeth, in Allah's name, what happened here?" Rashid's voice was full of worry.

"Rashid," he licked his lips and tried to form the words more clearly, "Help me out of here."

"Lie still," Rashid told him. "You are hurt."

A moment later, a cool wet cloth was pressed against his head, and a blanket laid over him; to cover him. Water was brought for him to drink. It refreshed him a little, enough to give him the strength to open his eyes.

"I am not the only one," he said softly, looking at the many cuts and bruises on his warrior brother's body.

"I will be all right," Rashid said.

"We cannot stay here, Rashid," he took a deep breath, wincing as the pounding in his head returned.

"We can, and will do exactly that until we can bring a healer from Al-Kharga. I do not like the look of the injury to your head, and you have lost much blood."

"No," Ardeth insisted, and feeling stronger with each moment that passed, though no less in pain he said, "Take me back to Al-Kharga, by all means, and I will see a healer while we prepare, but prepare we must."

"Ardeth?" Rashid looked at him with a worried frown. "What happened here?"

Ardeth shook his head, albeit slowly and carefully. How could he explain to Rashid something which he did not understand himself… that broke his heart at the mere thought of it… the mere possibility that evil could have so possessed his wife that she would…

"Help me," he craved instead of thinking on it further. "They have taken possession of the Sistrum of Usert and mean to use it."

"And Meiri?"

He saw Rashid shiver at seeing the pain that flashed once again through his eyes.

"We must prepare the warriors of First Tribe to ride against their evil, my brother. We must ride to the lands beyond the Ninth Tribe and confront them there. And may Allah have mercy on us, Rashid, for they have taken Meiri."


	16. All That Stands Between

Angel of the Heart Chapter 16 

Rick O'Connell looked across the small group of riders toward the warrior Jamal. Over the past several hours he had found himself warming to him. He did not seem as coldly aloof and cheerless as his fellow warriors of the Ninth. There was something entirely more personable about him and sometimes Rick caught him looking at some of his fellow warriors with an expression of distaste or in the case of the warrior Raveen, who was apparently his uncle, downright hatred. It worried Rick, therefore, to have the both of them with him on the scouting expedition.

"We will approach the temple from the northwest," Jamal said, "At this time of the day the setting sun will afford us some cover."

Rick nodded. He liked the idea of cover. "Sounds like a plan," he said as cheerfully as he could manage with the growing feeling of disquiet that he was experiencing. The closer they got to the temple, the more the feeling grew.

It wasn't Jonathan's reaction this time. His brother in law was simply tense and silent. It wasn't even the fact that Alex had refused to be left behind, insisting that he was 'twelve years old for cripe's sake,' and that he could look out for himself. It wasn't really anything that he could clearly vocalise. He just had a bad feeling that was growing worse as time went on.

At least, he thought ruefully, they had managed to leave Jennifer behind and that, in Rick's mind, was a very _good_ thing. The last thing he needed right now was a bombastic woman trying to prove herself in front of warriors that were the most chauvinistic men that he thought he'd had the misfortune to have to deal with. He was used to prejudice… had been known to be a little prejudiced himself – at least before he'd married Evy – but the men of the Ninth tribe had to win the all out prize for taking prejudice to the ultimate level.

Evy…

The thought of his wife left him momentarily breathless. He loved her so much. He couldn't stand that they were still apart and the thought that she was missing, _still_ missing and probably up ahead in the temple toward which he and these uncompromising Medjai warriors were riding absolutely terrified him. What if something happen… what if she got caught in the crossfire and hurt, or worse… killed? He had lost her once; to do it again would be losing himself.

"Hang on, honey," he breathed, "just hold on."

* * *

Jennifer was furious, simply furious. How dare they leave her behind? How dare they treat her like some simpering, wilting flower and leave her here in this hateful place? Hadn't she proven she could keep up, could look after herself?

On the other hand, this was an absolutely fascinating place, with a highly complex social structure – the more you looked into it that was. On first glance it appeared simply as an extremely patriarchal settlement where men ruled the hearts and minds of the women and children… where the men were in control. But talking with Fajr on the various things she had seen she had come to understand that the reality of it was a little different altogether.

The men ruled, yes… and for the most part the women obeyed the commands of the men, but the men _needed_ the women to intercede on their behalf with forces that they could neither fully understand, nor control. The important natural forces around were all female… the desert, the Nile and water, the oasis and growing things… and it was the place of the women to understand and communicate with these things on behalf of the men. It was why the married and betrothed men were met on their return to the oasis by their wives and fiancées, and blessed and refreshed by the receiving of water. It was an absolutely fascinating dichotomy in a society that on first examination appeared to be purely Islamic.

Of course, on the more secular side of things, the social climate, and public opinion in and around the oasis was almost entirely governed by the women; women that gathered at the water's edge to wash clothing and other linen would naturally exchange gossip. Heaven help anyone that fell foul of the sharp tongued critics that the older women tended to be. Man, woman or child could quite easily find themselves reviled throughout the settlement and in serious trouble as their relatives attempted to placate these opinion shapers and bring their errant kinsman back into favour.

Jenny sighed. She was allowing herself to become distracted from her annoyance at being left behind; at being once more separated from the man who was her… Her face creased in consternation as thoughts of Jonathan distracted her even more. She had looked into his eyes more times than she could count as they journeyed together, and had seen behind the caddish mask he wore to the soulful man behind, who simply wanted to be liked, to be loved… a man that yearned for companionship.

She sighed again. Of course there was this business about Seth and possession and all the rest of the mummy rot that she really and truly did not believe. Not for a moment because how could a woman of science allow herself to be ruled by superstitious mumbo jumbo? In spite of what these Medjai had tried to tell her she had to believe the evidence of her own eyes, her own experience. Another sigh left her body as she realised that this belief in tangible, scientifically provable reality did little to explain away Jonathan's fears and that that Tarek fellow had been right when he had said that Jonathan believed in all the things that she did not. So where did that leave her?

"With more bloody questions than answers as long as I stick around here, that's what," she answered her own silent question.

"Please?" Fajr asked, looking utterly confused.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," Jennifer tried to smile at the young woman until another thought occurred to her. "I say, Fajir," she still couldn't quite get the pronunciation of her name right, "do you know where they keep the horses?"

"Yes I know," she answered.

Jennifer's eyes lit up as the plan quickly formed in her head. It had worked before, hadn't it? Why shouldn't it work again?

"And you have spare robes here, for your brother?" she asked.

"Yes?" Fajr answered questioningly, her brows knitting as she looked as though she was trying to work out what Jennifer was thinking. It did not take her long. "No. Is bad thinking. Very bad." She shook her head emphatically. "Is not allow to wear dressings of man. And stealing of horse is terrible bad. They whip or stone to you if they catching you."

"My dear young woman," Jennifer said with a grin as wide as the Sahara was long, "I don't intend for them to _'catching me.'_ On the contrary… I intend to go right up to them, bold as you like, and show them that a woman is just as good as any man."

"Womans is," Fajr protested, sounding both confused and alarmed by Jennifer's plan. "Womans cleverness is, but you thinking is stupid… bad. You will be killing self and making me trouble."

Jennifer came to kneel beside the frightened woman and take her hands into her own. "Just listen to me for a moment, before you decide you won't help me."

"I not helping," Fajr pouted and tried to pull back her hands, but Jennifer held onto them tightly.

"Have you ever loved someone, Fajir? Loved them and not realised it until it was too late," she sighed again as she admitted, to herself at least, the stirring of feelings she had for Jonathan… admitted and named them… so now they _had_ to be true.

"Not loving is with me," Fajr said, twisting her hands free and clasping them in her lap to look at them. "Not knowing man until me father and father brother decide me marry and I go him. Is loving later, Insha'allah."

Jennifer took a few more moments to try and understand what Fajr meant and then ignored the little knot of irritation that flared once more against the archaic ways of these people. Granted, even in the high society of the civilised western world, arranged marriages were not unheard of, but usually one moved in circles that would allow you to at least develop feelings of warmth toward any likely candidates that one's parents might put forward. What Fajr was describing was absolute blind arrangement, giving her, like property or an animal… she took a deep breath… she was getting side tracked again.

"Well, God-willing, I hope you _do_ find love with the man you will come to marry," she said in a very measured voice, "But for myself, the man _I_ have come to love is out there… riding toward danger and I am not at his side."

Again, Fajr frowned in confusion because this was obviously the way things were done between the Medjai and their women. She bit her lip, trying to think of a way that she could convince the young woman to help her; to help her to dress and to help her take one of the horses and ride out after Jonathan, O'Connell and the others.

"But have you never _dreamed_ of such a love? Or… or… or being famous. Being known for your bravery and skill?" She snapped her fingers and pointed excitedly at Fajr.

"For me husband man, yes, but--"

"Damn it, girl," Jennifer finally lost patience, "are you going to help me or not?"

"Not helping," Fajr answered sullenly.

"Fine!" she snapped and threw up her hands. "Then I'll just have to muddle through on my own and probably get it all wrong and get into no _end_ of trouble and all thanks to y--"

"I will help you," said a measured voice from the doorway.

"You will?" Jennifer beamed as she turned to an older woman in the doorway. She was dressed all in a rich blue that looked, not like a dress, but like robes that pooled around her. "Fabulous!"

"But only because I do not wish what happened to my daughter to be the fate of my niece," she finished coldly. "Fajr, ruuHi"

"Aiwa, Tanti," Fajr said and then rose, and left Jennifer alone with the newcomer, wondering just how much she had overheard.

* * *

Lying on his belly beside Jamal, O'Connell lifted himself enough to peer down over the rock into the slight valley beneath them, in front of the cave mouth. The valley was literally awash with tents and crawling with warriors. Quickly he ducked back behind the shielding rock, and turned over with a sigh, lifting his eyes up toward the darkening sky.

"They are gathering reinforcements, O'Connell," Jamal told him. "Able bodied men from the surrounding tribes are joining their cause."

Rick nodded. "Yeah, it's never easy, is it?"

"If we wait for our First Medjai," the warrior agreed with his assessment of the decision, "then we risk their number becoming too great for us to defeat."

"And if we don't wait for Ardeth," Rick presented the other side of the argument, "and we find that they are already too much for us to handle on our own, we risk getting everyone killed."

"Why wait, I say," Raveen's sandpaper rough voice cut in on their conversation. "We should send for our war band and strike now before they have the chance to organise themselves… cut them down while we--"

A terrible scream cut off his words. As quickly as they dared the three men turned again, and peeked over the rock to see what had happened.

The local 'reinforcements' as Jamal had called them, had been corralled… guarded by the cult's dark robed warriors. One of their number was held between two men. They had cut him and even across the distance Rick could easily see the way his life blood poured from his body onto the ground… onto sand which boiled and hissed as the red soaked dirt formed into figures, horribly familiar to him – the snake headed warriors of Seth.

"Oh I _hate_ those guys," he groaned as he threw himself back behind the concealing rock.

"What _are_ those things?" hissed Jamal as he joined him.

"Those, my friend, are the reinforcements. Warriors of Seth…something like Anubis Warriors…"

Jamal groaned.

"…only worse," O'Connell concluded. He sighed, "Now we have no choice but to wait for Ardeth."

To his utter astonishment, Jamal, whom he had taken for a reasonable man, shook his head in disagreement.

"No," he said, "We must send for the Warriors of Ninth at once."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"If those creatures are sent out over the desert then all in their path will be slaughtered. It is only the Medjai that stand between that fate and all of Egypt. We warriors of the Ninth must do our best to keep them here, until Ardeth can arrive."

Then he turned and crawled away from the overhanging rock, to go and join the small band of scouts, and send one of them with the order for the warriors of the Ninth tribe to ride.

* * *

Meiri flinched away from the touch of the child. She could not move far, tied as she was to twin pillars that stretched toward the ceiling. Sacrifice, the child had told her. She was to be a sacrifice that would ensure that Seth would be made whole in the world and could make his divine wife manifest at his side.

"The sistrum of your weakling goddess is the key," Nebkhat told her.

"Weakling?" Meiri tried not to give in to the fear she felt, "Isis is sister to Nephthys, they mirror each other. If one is weak, then so is the other."

She cried out as the child raked a hand across her hip, her fingernails tipped with sharp steel claws.

"Do not _dare_ to speak so of the Mistress of Night."

"If she is so powerful," Meiri continued in a small, almost whimpering voice, "Then why do you need the sistrum at all. You should not? Why do you need Isis' power?"

The child Nebkhat spluttered in rage and moved again as though to attack Meiri as she stood bound and helpless, but even as the small hand struck out toward her, a larger, stronger hand closed around the child's wrist.

"Temper, little one," Imhotep's voice purred. Still overshadowed by the trapped essence of Seth, the voice had a hollow edge to it. "There will be time enough to harm her later… at the appropriate moment, before her friends… and the man she calls husband."

"They won't come!" Meiri spat, emboldened by the mention of Ardeth, "He doesn't know I'm here."

"Oh but he does," Imhotep murmured in her ear, and grabbing her by the hair, he dragged her around, pulling the restraints against her arms painfully, until she was facing the dark mirror that was beside where she was bound.

_He sat with his hand to his head, holding a cloth against a wound that she could see was deep and painful._

"_We must prepare the warriors of First Tribe to ride against their evil, my brother." he told Rashid, "We must ride to the lands beyond the Ninth Tribe and confront them there. And may Allah have mercy on us, Rashid, for they have taken Meiri."_

She moaned and sagged against the ropes as the power of the vision rushed over her. She tried to turn her head aside, but he held her fast, his hand wrapped painfully in her hair, forcing her to face the terrible pull of the mirror.

It sucked at her, spiralling around her until she felt dizzy with it, nauseated and weakened as it drew against her very life force, and the life of the child she carried. It did not matter how much she fought against it.

Her wrist burned painfully, not where the ropes bound her, but where a small image of the sistrum was burned into her flesh – the unholy tattoo that had been given to her by Anck-Su-Namun – the sign of the Usertim. It had later been cleansed and made holy by her union with her Medjai opposite. Man to woman… husband to wife… Osiris to Isis…

"I… I come… I come to you…" Drawn by the sickening whirl of power the words began to tumble from her lips… faster even as she tried to stop them… an invocation to the protective wings of Isis.

"Yes," Nebkhat put back her head, sighing in near ecstasy as she spoke making Meiri only wish to stop the words all the more, "Call to Her, Priestess… Usertim… feed me with her power."

But still her words continued to pour forth.

"I come to you hewn in pieces… Lament… Oh Egypt… for He is… lost… to me." The release of the tightness in her hair and the way she almost sagged against ropes binding her was the only way she knew that Imhotep had released her. Her arms screamed painfully, but even the pain did not shatter the trance into which she was falling. Relief from the pain came as he moved behind her, circled her with his arms to support her. "I have not been…hewn in pieces… save by the loss of you." The hum of another power flowing into her and through her strengthened her. Somewhere in her mind confusion rose, but the pull of the mirror, and the need to protect herself was all too great. Her voice rose as the words continued to spew forth from her lips, "And yet I will not permit thee to be hewn in pieces. I come to do violence to thy foe, but I will permit no violence to be done unto thee. I protect thee."

_I protect thee…_

The words echoed into silence and her mind opened to a long distant past in which gods walked… and she was among them.

"_Why is it that you prostrate yourself before me, sister?" She crouched to take her sister by the arms and raise her up so that she could at least see into her eyes. "What wrong could you have done to me that I would so demand such obeisance?"_

"_Forgive me, my Usert, for I have done such wrong to you that cannot be measured in the worlds, for I have taken that which should have been for you and made life of it." She wept then, and tried to hide from Isis, but she held her firmly. "I have a child…"_

_It was time to end the charade, for Isis knew well the truth of that which her sister spoke. She had seen it. She saw many things, for it was one of many gifts given to her by their father. "I know what you have done, Nebkhat," she told Nephthys gently, "as I know His part in it, but just as I have forgiven Him, how could I not forgive you?"_

"_Help me, Isis," Nephthys reached for her sisters arms and Isis cradled her close._

"_Only one thing I wish to know," she said gently. "How…? You fooled him so completely. What was it that so hid the truth of who you were as he looked on you and gave his life into you?"_

* * *

Pacing angrily, Jennifer once again pulled out the compact from the bag they had left at her feet and looked at herself in the small metal mirror inside. Of course she could only see her face, but she thought she looked convincing enough, so how had they known who she was almost the moment they set eyes on her?

"You know," at the sound of his voice she rounded on O'Connell as he finally came to where she had been left. "for a supposedly smart woman, you're pretty damn stupid."

"What, because I decide to take my destiny into my own hands rather than get left behind with the women to sit in a place not my own and worry about whether--"

"Worry?" O'Connell spluttered at her, and then advancing toward her added, "And by the way, take another look in that mirror of yours and you'll see that you _are_ a woman!"

"I rather think I look quite dashing in this--" she didn't get any further before O'Connell snatched at the turban that was still resting atop her head.

"Give me that," he mumbled before tossing it to the side and adding, "And I hope you're wearing something underneath that robe because--"

"I assure you, Mister O'Connell, that I am quite adequately dressed."

"I rather think you are most inappropriately dressed. Remove it." Jamal's voice cut across their argument.

"I _beg_ your pardon," she rounded on the Medjai warrior.

"Were you a woman of the Medjai you would be severely punished for putting on the robes of a warrior," he said with barely contained anger, "so you will take it off. Now."

"I will-- Hey! Stop tha… stop that this--!"

She started frantically batting and slapping at the Medjai warrior who had reached for the knot on the sash that was holding the robes closed at her waist. He paid no attention to the slaps that landed about his head and shoulders, just continued to untie the knot, and then yank the long trailing sash from around her middle. Overbalancing, she had to stop hitting him and grasp hold of his robes, or fall unceremoniously to the sand. He pushed her away to arms length and virtually tore the Medjai robe from her small frame, leaving her standing in a loose, billowing black shirt, and pants to match.

"Bastard!" she flung at him, "How _dare_ you!"

"How dare _you_, Miss Hamlyn," he responded, his anger boiling over into his voice, "You have done nothing but transgress against our rules and standards of behaviour since the moment you set foot upon our tribal lands. If I thought for one moment that you would remain there, even though I cannot spare the rider I would have you taken back to el-Hiba, but I know you would only try this foolishness again and further insult my people."

"Yes, well," she said, equally as coldly, "I'm glad to see that we understand one another."

"You understand _nothing,_" he mocked her, "and care even less."

"I do, sir," she corrected him indignantly, "I care very much what happens to Jonathan and--"

"If you truly cared, you would have remained at the oasis, for now he must divide his attention between his own protection and yours."

"I am _quite_ capable of protecting myself." She would have gone on, informing him of those few prizes she had won in shooting and archery competitions on her father's estate back in Maine, except for a cry of warning that came up from the sentry.

"Prove it, Lady!" O'Connell snapped, thrusting a rifle into her hand and pushing her toward the trail that led to the overlook where Jonathan, Alex and a few of the younger Medjai had been stationed. He followed after her, harrying her every step of the way.

* * *

Rick O'Connell watched silently as the first of the Medjai warriors swept toward the massed army of the Cult of Nephthys, dark robed men and supernatural conjured warriors waited with loaded guns and wicked blades to cut them down. He shook his head, worried… wondering how in the name of god – pick one - they stood a chance of holding them off even for a moment. He sighed, and shook his head again, at his own folly, knowing he would be among the second wave of riders.

"Dad…?" Alex came beside him, looking up at him in worry, probably reading the expression on his face. He tried to give him a smile.

"You sure you know how to use that thing?" He nodded toward the rifle Alex held.

"Yeah," he said and raised the rifle to a firing position.

"Keep it… keep it tight into your shoulder," he told his son, moving behind him and pressing the rifle butt against the boy's body. He felt Alex nod. "Lead the target," he went on, suddenly feeling his throat tighten at the realisation of Alex as a young man, "and squee… squeeze the trigger, don't pull."

"Dad," Alex protested a little, but then calmed quickly, and said very seriously, "I won't miss."

Rick nodded, and hugged his son fiercely, before breaking away quickly and heading down towards where Marhana was saddled and ready with the rest of the Medjai warriors… quickly… before he changed his mind.

* * *

Jonathan looked at the rifle as though it was going to bite him, trying very hard to forget about the terrible urging of Seth, the dream he'd had… of taking Ardeth's head from his shoulders with a single shot. He tried to remind himself that Ardeth wasn't there… that this was nothing like the time before, that all he had to do was...

His hand trembled as he reached out to take the rifle from where it was propped against the rock.

"We'll be fine." Jennifer's voice made him jump and he snatched back his hand, cradling it against his body as though it was burned, listening to her voice as she assured him, "They need us, Jonathan."

"All right, Uncle Jon," Alex said cheerily, but serious at the same time.

Alex came to take up a position at the other side of him from Jennifer, and somewhat buoyed, Jonathan reached for the gun again, this time taking it firmly into his hands.

"All right, partner," he answered, raising he gun ready to fire, to try and give the Medjai cover as they charged against the hoards of the cult of Nephthys. Around him rifle shot after shot echoed down into the valley, and a few of the dark robed men began to fall.

* * *

Firing as he charged, Rick felt comforted by the bunching of the muscles in the charging stallion beneath him. He ducked aside by some divine intervention as the whistling heat of a bullet passed close by his cheek, the change in pressure of his knees against Marhana's side as he ducked made the horse swerve to the side, consequently avoiding the tangle of equine legs and Medjai flesh as the warrior beside him was cut down.

There were still many yards to cross before he reached the melee between the first wave of Medjai and their opponents. Many more swerves and changes of direction to make before he could stop worrying about being shot off Marhana's back and start worrying about getting cut down by one of the vicious blades that flew in the thick of the fight.

He took a glance back over his shoulder, up to where Alex and the others were doing their best to cover them, to keep them safe and his heart tightened again. How could he have let this happen? He should have sent Alex back to England on the next ship when he discovered him stowed away, not let him stay; not bring him into danger. Rescuing him was one thing, but this… this was madness.

A hissing roar sounded to his right, and instinctively he ducked, but the blow did not come for his head, and he tumbled as Marhana went down under him. The impact with the ground knocked the breath out of him, but he knew he didn't have time to deal with that. He had to get his feet under him, find the blade they'd given him so that he could defend himself against the creature that was bearing down on him.

He rolled aside as the sand where he had been lying a moment before split either side of a huge wide bladed sword. Rolling again he managed to stand while the creature pulled the sword from the ground and once more swung it in his direction. He jumped back out of its reach, retreating another step as he tried to work out a counter attack.

When his arms were numbed by the strength in the next blow he tried to parry, he realised that maybe 'counter attack' was getting a little ahead of himself.

* * *

It was like an ocean, a seething mass of moving bodies between her and the gaping maw that was open and calling to her… calling to something inside of her that had her pinned down, trapped in the terrible things she'd done, the lives she'd taken, the harm and the pain she'd caused.

Her body felt heavy, the weight in her hands heavier still and her legs were raw and stiff from carrying her over the desert, and now a new terror was rising up, threatening to suffocate her more than the terrible angry voice that had driven those steps had ever done. A part of her, detached from herself and watching from deep within the madness that had gripped her heart and mind since the death of baby daughter almost three years before, began to doubt the innocence of her intentions… she shook her head, arguing with herself.

"I want her back," she moaned, "I want her in my arms…"

_And with the power you hold in your hands you can bring life to her lifeless corpse again… and she can be with you… she can be with _all_ of us._

She shivered, moaned again and then hauled herself onward, toward where the voice was loudest, toward where the promise it gave her might be fulfilled.

* * *

Alex' shoulder ached from the repeated hammering the recoil from the rifle gave him. His ears were ringing and he felt almost blind from squinting so far as he aimed. He would never afterward know what it was that turned his head; that drew his eyes toward the figure that was stumbling across the sand, through the battle toward the cave mouth behind the bloody battlefield, illuminated by the flickering firelight from the burning tents.

His heart stopped in recognition and his hands shook so hard that he almost dropped the rifle. He narrowed his eyes, squinting even more… it was unmistakable… the long hair, her figure just the right shape, and although she was as unkempt as he had _ever_ seen her, he knew in an instant. It couldn't have been any other person.

"Mum!" he yelled as loud as he had ever called out before, and almost throwing down the rifle, he began to race down the slope and run toward the battle.

* * *

"Alex?" Jonathan looked up in time to see his nephew's behind slipping and sliding down the slope. "Alex, wait!"

Jonathan turned his attention back to the battle, trying to see what Alex had seen that sent him running… such a crazy thing to do. He was only twelve years old, there was no way Alex should be down there in the thick of all that. Rick would never forgive him if he let anything happen to Alex.

With a groan, he put down the rifle and got to his feet, meaning to follow the boy, meaning to do everything that he could to make sure that Alex was safe.

_Trying to prove yourself…_

His steps faltered.

_...prove to the others that you are worth something…_

"No… no, Alex," he whined, "come back…"

"Jonathan?"

He turned to face Jennifer, torn between following Alex and just picking up the gun and pretending that he hadn't noticed the boy leaving… frantically ignoring the voice in his head that was still taunting him and the way that, as he moved, his limbs began to feel heavier and heavier, and that behind the near and distant sounds of gunshots, the cries of pain and the roars of the conjured warriors, there was the rattling, melodic sound of metal against metal…

Bells… pulling and clawing at that… that thing inside of him around which he had built walls… high wall, with the drinking and denial that was his shield and his defence…

_Until your idiot of a baby sister went and disappeared and dragged you here… brought you back to me… yes, to me… come to me… Joooonnnnathannnn._

"Help me," he squeaked.

She was in front of him, her hands caressing the front of his chest. Her skin was hot against the frantic beating of his heart. He could feel it through his shirt.

"He's here," he whispered fearfully, "Its here… she brought it here and now I can't keep him away… I can't keep him away any more."

He looked at Jennifer; at her trusting face; at the way she was looking up at him…

His fingers reached up to trace the shape of her cheeks, to move over her smooth skin, the soft… long line of her neck… She drew breath…

_His hands closed around her throat… his thumbs pressing against the front of her neck, squeezing back toward his fingers… her hands came up toward his, clawed at his fingers, trying to free herself, trying to make him let go…_

"Jonathan?" Her questioning brought him back to himself and he looked at her in horror and backed away. He trembled in terror at what he had wanted to do and the pleasure it made him feel.

"Get away from me…" he continued to back-pedal.

"Whatever's the matter?" she frowned. "It's all right… calm down… breathe…"

"No," he all but roared, drawing the attention of many of the young Medjai that were with them on the rise. "No, you don't understand," his voice became a whine, "you don't. He's _here_… didn't you listen? Didn't you hear me say that? I could hurt you… hurt _all_ of you."

"You're not going to hurt anyone, Jonathan," she soothed him, "You don't want to. You were going to help Alex, remember? Alex…?"

"Alex… yes…" he turned around to look over his shoulder, down the slope where his nephew had gone and then before she could say anything else, he turned in the direction he was looking and set off to do what he could… though whether to save Alex or to save himself he wasn't really sure.

* * *

Rick dodged first one way and then the other, circling round the creature that was attacking relentlessly. It was faster than he was and stronger too, and how he had so far managed to avoid serious injury was as much a mystery to him as how the ancient people of this land had managed to erect such huge monuments and edifices of stone to glorify their gods and honour their sacred dead.

He snorted at himself as he parried a swinging blow and narrowly avoided being eviscerated for probably the third time in his battle with the creature. His arms ached, his muscles screamed and he wondered how he might find a way to make a counter attack that would get him closer to cutting the foul thing's head from its body.

There was a lull in the terrible noise all around him… as if the desert valley that was the battle ground was taking a breath, and into that moment of quiet came the single, anguished cry.

"Mum!"

Quite forgetting himself he turned in the direction of the cry and his stomach knotted in terror as he watch Alex come tearing down the rocky slope.

"Alex, no!" he tried to yell back, "Stay there… Stay. There…!"

The slight ring of sharp steel cutting the air made him duck, and ducking upset his balance, making him fall forward, to the ground, where he began to scrabble on his hands and feet, trying to get upright once again, trying to get to his son's side.

He lifted his hands from the floor, pushing himself up, taking one step… then another… beginning to run. He heard the creature follow, felt the sand shaking under his feet at the powerful steps and knew that in a moment the warrior of Seth would outpace him, would get between him and Alex.

"Oh no you don't!" he growled, and using his forward momentum to add strength to his blow he turned, aiming from memory and putting all his weight behind the movement of the blade as it passed through the surprised creature's neck.

He was rewarded by a stinging shower of sand, and stumbled again, breathless and panting, to rest on one knee on the sand.

And then he registered what Alex had cried out.

_Mum._

He turned to look back at Alex for a second, still running toward the thick of the battle, dodging around the stragglers fighting at the edge of the valley and then, hardly daring to believe, he turned again to peer in the direction of his son's frantic charge.

He saw her, stumbling and weaving across the sand, heedless of the swinging blades and flying bullets, moving through the battle as though it was parting to allow her passage.

"Evy!" he cried out and took a few stumbling steps of his own. "Evy no! Come back!"

The beat of his heart inside his chest felt as though someone was using him as a punch bag and each breath was a painful burning, but he had to move. He had to get to her. Beginning to run he tried to catch up to her, until suddenly the sand in front of him erupted, becoming a wall of terrifying warriors between him and the woman he loved.

"Evelyn!" he gasped, even as he raised his sword to defend himself.

* * *

"Please, Ashna," Ghayda walked again around to the other side of the horse and adjusted the stirrups. "All I ask is that you watch Nabilah for me."

"Of course I will, Ghayda," she answered, "But… but you are barely from Ayesha's care and yet you ride out once more."

"I promise you, I ride only as far as Esna. From there I will take the steamer, and I will rest, but I must do this," she paused for a moment to cup the worried young woman's cheek with her hand. "Besides," she added with a little smile, "Ayesha has enough work to do without worrying about a tough old woman like me."

"You are far from old, Ghayda," Ashna told her softly, "and…"

Ghayda tilted her head, waiting for the young wife of the First Medjai to go on.

"I… I am afraid here, by myself."

"You are not by yourself and I will not be gone long. You will be so busy caring for the children that you will not have the time to miss me." She chuckled a little, and moving away from the Ashna, pulled herself up into the saddle of her horse. "Our warriors ride to battle, Ashna, and when they return they will need comfort. I mean to bring as much comfort to Rashid as a woman is able."

Ashna smiled up at her. "You are a good woman, Ghayda Khalifah."

Ghayda smiled back and then sighed. "Watch for Mohammed, Ashna," she warned. "I do not know what is in his mind, but he is up to something and I doubt that it is good."

"I will take care," she nodded softly, looking somewhat nervously back toward the centre of the settlement, to the council halls.

* * *

"Poor little librarian… lost little soul grieving for her daughter," Nebkhat mocked as Evy sank to her knees in the middle of the temple floor, still clutching the sistrum tightly to her chest. Her voice hardened, "Give it to me… Mine… it must be mine. Give it to me. Give it to me now!"

"No, no I…" she was so confused, the confusion was clear in her voice, "I need it. You can't have it."

She turned her head first one way and then another, trying to take in where she was, trying to understand her environment, but the muddle was so thick in her head that she could not grasp even the edge of comprehension… and she was tired. So terribly tired… and sad… weighed down by such a piercing loss…

And then her eyes fell over the man that was standing beside two pillars on the dais, next to a woman that Evy knew she should be able to name. The bewilderment she felt refused to allow her the knowledge of who she was, but she frowned to see that she was tied to the pillars. The man though… that man she recognised at once.

"Oh my god," she said, feeling a terrible rush of dread, "Imhotep."

"Nefertiri," he greeted her softly, the word a whisper around his supercilious smile.

"Make her give it to me," Nebkhat demanded, stalking across the temple toward the High Priest of Osiris.

"Take it from her," he suggested.

"No," Evy clutched it closer, wrapping her hands more tightly around it and pulling away the cloth wrapping from around the sistrum.

The captive atop the dais moaned at the resulting sound, a sound that roused her from where she was slumped, her arms straining against her body weight.

The musical rattling appeared to be nectar to the child abomination and she seemed strengthened by it.

"No," Evy said, afraid that the small creature would steal the power of its song and would stop her from using it to bring back her baby; that all the blood and death would have been wasted. Almost boldly she denied the girl, "It's mine. You can't have it."

"Oh but I can," the child said to her, beginning to stalk back in her direction. "I will."

"Never!" she gasped, and somehow dragged herself to her feet. "I'll bring her back, I will… and then I'll cast you back to whatever hell you came from!"

She must have blinked, or closed her eyes in sheer exhaustion for longer than she thought, for when she opened them again Imhotep was right beside her, his hand closed around her own as she held the sistrum. But when he spoke to her, she knew the truth of it…

"_Do you not remember? Did he not once tell you that it could not be that kind of love… not filial, platonic or parental love that can be used with the power of Usert's sistrum to raise the departed back from My son's dark realm_."

She shivered. "You're not Imhotep, are you?" she breathed.

* * *

Roused by the sounds from the sistrum, Meiri tried to pull herself upright, trying to somehow channel away the rising power kindled with each movement of sacred artefact.

"Evelyn, no," she breathed, "You mustn't…"

She moaned again, putting pieces together from her visions and from the knowledge in her heart.

"You can't… we cannot fulfil the sacrifices…"

As if he heard, Seth-Imhotep turned back to Meiri. "Oh, so right, sweet Sister… My Isis." He turned again, reaching then to caress Evy's face, "When life is returned by the power of the Sistrum a new life must be made, and another given, or you will free me, completely, from my confinement… and you… you cannot make _another_ life…"

"None of us can," Meiri wept, "Oh Ardeth…"

_I know what you have done, as I know His part in it, but just as I have forgiven Him, how could I not forgive you?_

Evy whined, "You're lying,"

Seth-Imhotep tilted his head to regard her steadily, and then shook his head slowly. "God of Chaos I may be," he said, "but why should I lie when the truth carries more power?"

"My baby," Evy sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself as though she could somehow hold the hope of somehow bringing back her daughter, even though they all crushed it right before her eyes.

"She doesn't know," Meiri whispered, "she doesn't know…"

* * *

They fought in a circle, back to back… Rick, Jamal and Alex, who was caught in the thick of the fight beside his father. Rick was trying so hard to protect him.

Around them similar knots of Medjai, fighting hard, pinned down and surrounded by the Warriors of Seth.

Many men had fallen, and the odds, already overwhelming, had lengthened toward impossibility. It had been a terrible call… heroic but terrible… and the moral of the warriors of the Ninth tribe of the Medjai dipped as low as their chances of surviving the battle.

As if reading his thoughts, Jamal smiled grimly. "The hour is always darkest before the dawn, my friend."

He launched a blurring attack against one of the creatures in front of him, but as fast as he cut it down, two more stepped in to take its place.

_I'm sorry Evy…_ Rick through mournfully. _I tried _so_ hard._

* * *

Miranda watched the sad spectacle played out in the main room of the temple… the woman that wept, refusing to give up her hope, or her hold on the sistrum that they had fooled her into assembling by playing on that seed of hope inside her.

Cruelty… such wretched cruelty.

She was not the only one in tears, for standing beside the one that was bound atop the dais Miranda saw, if no one else did, the tears that leaked from her eyes. She was meant as their sacrifice… the one that they would slaughter, and then bring back from Anubis' hand and thus unleash in full measure the power of the one that played in the mind of the Osirian High Priest… Suti… Seth… God of Chaos. Evil beyond measure.

She shivered… was she truly to be a part of that? _Could_ she allow herself to be used once more?

"The time is coming when you must choose on what side you will stand."

The soft voice came from the bound woman and Miranda jumped, discomforted by how similar her words were to ones that she herself had uttered to her women not so long ago. She turned her face to look at the captive. "I will be made great by this," she said.

The woman shook her head, "You will be brought low. All of us will."

"I will not release you, your fate is sealed," Miranda told her, though her voice lacked conviction.

"They do not need me… they do not need _any_ sacrifice." The captive woman tried to get her knees under her, "Since the moment your people planted the seed of the idea into her mind, Evelyn always intended to use the power of the sistrum to restore her lost child but she doesn't know the truth my friend, any more than do you. They have no need of you either… not any more."

"You are lying!" Miranda knelt and shook the woman who stifled her cry. "I will bear the child Apnu and rise to greatness among the new awakened gods."

"Oh, poor deceived orphan," the woman had such genuine sadness in her eyes as she looked at Miranda. "Did you and your master truly believe that you could conjure up Shetan and ask him to behave?"

"What… do you mean?" Tears came to Miranda's eyes as she felt nothing but truth coming from the woman.

"You will no more bear the child that these people sought to bring than I will," she sighed, "Seth has worked his chaos on us all, and nothing stands between us and destruction." Her voice dropped to a whisper then, "Nothing at all."

* * *

A cry of pain heralded the fall of another of the Medjai as they valiantly tried to hold back the tides of evil that the warriors of Seth would sweep across the lands. Rick O'Connell, cut, bleeding and exhausted – beyond the point of exhaustion – simply had no more to give. His legs buckled and he sank to his knees in the sand.

"O'Connell…" Jamal tried to move, to defend him against an incoming blade.

"Dad," Alex shook his father by the shoulder, "Dad, get up… you have to fight… you have to--"

"I can't, Alex… I'm sorry," Rick said faintly, his breathing laboured, "I'm sorry,"

He raised his head, turning it eastward, toward slight pink glow that was just beginning to show itself on the far horizon. Then he frowned. It was blurred… as though the horizon was moving… moving toward them.

Blinking several times, and shaking his head to clear his vision he looked again. This time it was unmistakable… There… against that moving horizon a grey-white horse came into view and stopped at the top of the dune.

"Ardeth…" Rick gasped the name as though in prayer, and somehow found the strength to get to his feet again, and to give a cry, that was echoed by the remaining warriors of the Ninth Tribe, renewed by the arrival of their First Medjai.

On the horizon Ardeth pulled back on the reins and for just a moment his horse reared, pawing at the air and let out a piercing call that was answered by the crisp clear battle cry of thousands of Medjai warriors.


	17. The Power of Sacrifice

Angel of the Heart Chapter 17 

Sliding to the bottom of the track, his arms wheeling to keep his balance, Jonathan came face to face with two particularly evil looking warrior of the Cult of Nephthys. He yelped, and tried to defy gravity by sliding backwards up the slope, only to solidly collide with Jennifer as she came careering down after him.

He yelped again as he overbalanced toward one of the two men. His arms wheeling even more frantically now did little to aid his cause. Not until he was within arms reach of the brute that was reaching out to grab him, when his twirling fist connected with the underside of the man's jaw and quite unexpectedly he went down, quite unconscious.

Jonathan gave a small laugh of astonishment, and pulled the bottom of his jacket straight, squaring himself up. "Yes, well," he said to anyone who would listen, "meant to do that." He was completely oblivious to the gun in the remaining cultist's hand.

Jennifer was his salvation. Just as the evil, ugly looking man squeezed the trigger, she grabbed Jonathan's arm and gave a sharp tug. She moved him just far enough for the bullet to miss his cheek. He still felt the sting of heat from its passage, but afterward still, thankfully, had his head atop his shoulders.

He threw Jenny a helpless expression of gratitude and she rolled her eyes. "Honestly Jonathan," she said, and without waiting for an answer stomped down with the whole of her weight on the opposing warrior's foot. He cried out in pain and began hopping on the spot clutching his booted foot, his gun discarded on the ground nearby. "Do something," she added with an urgent look toward the stricken cult member.

The warrior of the cult of Nephthys took another hopping step, unfortunately for him, toward his glass-jawed companion at arms and tripped into a sprawl of arms and legs, momentarily stunned. A moment was all that Jonathan needed to pick up the fallen gun and crack the cultist over the back of the head, rendering him as unconscious as his friend. With a grin Jonathan straightened up and turned to face Jennifer.

"Not _quite_ what I had in mind," she told him, smiling gently, "but it will do. So now what?"

A pang of filial loyalty filled his heart and for a moment he looked back over his shoulder, through the battle, to the small figure that was already disappearing into the darkness of the cave mouth on the far side of the battle field.

"I have to save my baby sister," he said, resolve almost masking the slight tremor in his voice. "We have to get into that cave."

"Through that?" Jennifer came to stand beside him, took his hand and stared out across the battle with an expression of horror and panic on her face.

"Oh no," Jonathan assured her with a slight grin, "I mean to take the long way…" he leaned down to her then and pointed a semi-circular path that marked the edge of the battlefield. "…around."

* * *

Meirionnydd shivered, a cold dread creeping into her as Seth-Imhotep knelt beside Evy and began to whisper to her… whispering words that Meiri could not hear, but feared anyway.

Evy roused from the small rest they had allowed her as the emotions of lost hope had swept away any last remaining shred of resolve. Her eyes were dull, heavy and still filled with tears as she looked at Meiri. Something he had said made her look in Meiri's direction.

Once more, Meiri shuddered… the look was not one of friendship as it should have been, but one of open contempt… even hate. The child Nebkhat moved to join Imhotep, carrying with her a flat, velvet inlaid box. She held it out to Evy. Evy moved her hand to reach into the box and to take out the jewelled dagger that lay within.

"Oh Evelyn," Meiri moaned softly, "Don't do this… please don't. It isn't what you want."

"Do not listen to her lying sweetness," Seth-Imhotep helped Evy to rise to her feet, keeping a hand clasped around her elbow as he began to move her toward the dais. "Think only of our goals, my promise to you."

"You cannot trust him to keep his promises, Evelyn," Meiri said urgently, looking up at the woman who was her friend. She looked into her eyes, seeing the anguish that was drowning her, the anger they had filled her with to allow them to control her. "Everything they have ever told to you is untrue… everything."

"Do for me this one thing," Seth-Imhotep purred against Evy's cheek, "and I shall return to you the child that was lost."

"He cannot, Evy. Cannot." She appealed to Evy almost in desperation as, sistrum in one hand still held tight against her breast, and dagger in the other outstretched as though it were leading the way, Evy came closer to her, came to sink down to her knees in front of her. Meiri twisted against the bonds, but they were too strong for her, there was nowhere for her to go. She could not get away, and in the same moment she also knew that there would be no suddenly, last minute rescue. If she were to be saved, it would be by her own hand or by…

Evelyn swayed as she drew back the knife ready to strike, became unbalanced and was forced to move quickly and support herself or fall. She moved the hand that was holding the sistrum. Moved it swiftly to lean against it, to give herself the support she needed, but in doing so, the slight rustle of sound that had been there, in the background as the bells shook against her heaving chest became amplified as the instrument came free of her body.

"…Isis…" Meiri breathed, concentrating on the sound, gathering it around her, bringing it to dwell within her, "Come to me… Help me… save me…"

A rumble of thunder sounded overhead and the air in the temple began to feel alive, electrified… as though it hummed with power.

Evelyn faltered, stopped moving and looked up, then looked from the dagger to Meiri.

"M…Meirionnydd…?" she said, momentarily becoming her own lost and bewildered self.

"Yes." The word burst from Meiri with the force of a sigh. "Yes, Evy it's me."

"No!" Seth-Imhotep cried and made a lunge toward Evy, toward the sistrum.

Evy snatched it away. "It's mine!" she cried, but once again the bells were sounding clearly, filling the air with the power of Usert… Isis… raw, unchannelled and dangerous.

Meiri could almost see the hatred descending again over her friend, even before she raised the dagger once more, caught in the delusion that the evil voice of Seth had planted in her mind. Tears came to her eyes; for her friend, lost and in pain as she was; for her family at the thought of all the loss that they had suffered and could suffer still… and for herself… for to do what she must could mean the ending of her life… at least in way she now knew it.

With tears rolling freely over her cheeks, she opened herself to Power of the Usertim's patron Goddess. "Forgive me," she breathed, "Come to me, My Goddess, aid Your unworthy servant in her hour of need."

The rumbling of the thunder coalesced into a single ear splitting howl of discharging power as a bolt of energy leaped from the sky, penetrating the rock to strike at the marble ground of the temple floor.

_I protect thee with this flame… I drive thine enemies away…_

A ring of cold blue flame sprang up where the lightening had struck, drawing a circle of protection around Meiri's bound form and casting Evelyn through the air away from the dais. She landed on her back, dazed and unmoving. The dagger and the sistrum flew from her hands, the dagger falling harmlessly to the temple floor, but the sistrum…

As if with a life of its own, the sistrum danced noisily across the floor, toward a channel, toward a gaping maw that waited to swallow up its goodness and pervert the love held within its music to give life to temple of Isis' dark sister Nephthys… and there it teetered on the edge of the pit… singing out its Song of Power.

* * *

Ardeth fought with the ferocity of a lion and creature after creature fell to the sweeping cut of his blades. He fought with a rhythm that ran through his very blood, leading his warriors, forging the way toward the knot of those that remained of Ninth Tribe, and to his dear friend O'Connell.

Thunder rumbled overhead, as if a storm were brewing with the coming dawn. Dark clouds obscured the rising sun. It did not bode well for them, he knew, as he glanced toward the angry sky.

Ducking around an incoming blade he brought his attention back to the battle, straightening again, fighting even before the curve had gone from his back, he forced the creature's defences higher and higher, keeping his attacks flying strong and fast until he crossed his arms inside the defences of the snake headed warrior of Seth, and severed its head from its body, turning away from the ensuing shower of sand, to face his friend with the grimmest of smiles.

"O'Connell," he nodded in greeting, and fell in beside the other man.

"What kept you?" the American quipped.

"Glad to see me?" His blade danced around the attack of a warrior in front of him, scoring a strike of his own.

"Just like old times." O'Connell confirmed with a nod before he was forced to defend himself desperately from a flurry of attacks.

Ardeth glance to the side, to where O'Connell's son was trying his best to keep from harms way and to help his father at the same time. Though the boy – young man, he reminded himself – lacked the strength to do any real, lasting harm to the creatures, his frequent and quick jabbing attacks at the abominations helped to keep the creatures somewhat distracted, and allowed O'Connell a better chance to defeat them. He smiled, proud of the boy, and nodded to himself. He would have made a good Medjai, would Alex. And his next thought was to offer that honour to the boy, once the battle was done.

Another rumble overhead reminded him of the urgency to get past these warrior guards and he fought with renewed ferocity. A heartbeat later the air was split by a devastating crack of powerful discharge that lit the dim morning a bright, electric blue. The jagged spear of lightning shattered the rocks ahead and shook the ground beneath his feet.

"There is no more time," he yelled into the chaos that followed the lightning strike as the winds rose, throwing sand in all directions, "we must get into the temple!"

"Right behind you," O'Connell told him grimly.

And then, together with Rashid, Ardeth, O'Connell and Alex fought their way around and through the battle toward the mouth of the cave.

* * *

"What _is_ this place?" Jennifer asked him, fear in her voice.

Jonathan shivered as he descended the slick steps, holding her hand, trying to be brave. He was trying not to notice the obsidian blackness, so horribly familiar to him from a time before; trying to ignore the tantalising whisper in the back of his mind.

"I thought Egyptian temples were supposed to have white walls all covered with hieroglyphics or something," she disturbed his memories.

_Where the carvings had been was nothing but seemingly featureless black walls, unrelieved black that somehow drew the eye to the area at the far end of the chamber._

"Not this one…" he murmured, starting down the steps again, not even having realised he had stopped. "This temple is guarded by Seth."

"Oh," she said, and moved just a little closer to him. He supposed she must believe… could no longer deny those things that she had now seen. He felt a pang of sorrow for the loss of innocence that meant; sad that she had to suffer that when he had so wanted to protect her from it.

He put his arm around her shoulders and eased her closer still. "We'll be all right," he told her, and a smile started to spread on his face because for the first time since coming to Egypt, he was actually starting to believe that. "We'll be just fine."

* * *

The mirror beside her swirled with a deep, dark power that echoed the bright musical electricity that flowed from the sistrum, hovering over the temple like a huge bird of prey with wings spread wide.

Seth-Imhotep raged against the interference in his plans and rounded on Ananiah. "Bring me the Sistrum." He pointed to where it hung, like a see-saw, teetering back and forth on the edge of the pit. "Bring it to me now!"

"But my lord…" he started; evidently understanding that for him to touch the sistrum would be disastrous. "I cannot, it is forbidden it is--"

With a frustrated roar, Seth-Imhotep planted both hands in the middle of his chest and threw him painfully against the nearest wall. Where was Anck-Su-Namun when he needed her? Where was his beloved…?

He spun around to fix the Usertim woman with a deathly glare. "Do not seek to weaken me with thoughts of that woman… with thoughts of a love, long dead!"

"_I who am the beauty of the green oasis, and the white moon among the stars call unto your immortal soul. Rise up… rise up and come unto me…"_ she answered with the voice of her goddess.

"To you?" he sneered. "To what? The power of your _love?_" He laughed in her face then. "Where has your power taken you, fair Isis? Look at you. If you truly had power you would break your bonds and free yourself, but there you remain, bound and helpless."

"_Not _quite_ as helpless… as you might think,_" she said softly, before breathing in reverence, the name of a most beautiful soul…

* * *

At a slight scuffle in the darkness, Jonathan froze. "Did you hear that?" he asked fearfully.

"It was probably just a rat or… something," Jennifer answered him uncertainly, her hand still covered her nose against the stench through which they were moving, "God knows what else is down here to make this terrible smell."

"No," Jonathan said, and grabbed her arm, pulled her into the cover of a nearby pillar.

"I thought you said we had to stay away from the edge, just in case--"

"Ssshh," he hushed her urgently.

"_Wow… would you look at this place," a young voice said excitedly._

"_Do not let the appearance of it fool you, my young friend," advised a very familiar voice._

"Oh thank God!" Jonathan said, and stepped out from the pillar. "Ardeth, old boy am I glad to see y--"

He yelped as Rick stepped swiftly around the Medjai and restrained him, pulling both arms around behind his back.

"Rick!" he said sharply, then realising why his brother-in-law was behaving in such a strange manner, he swallowed hard. "It's all right," he breathed, "No knife… it's just me… just me…"

Slowly Rick released him and he rubbed his arms which felt suddenly chilled to the bone.

"Jonathan, what are you doing here?" Ardeth asked, sounding worried.

"Same as you, I expect. I saw Evy come in this way, and I… that is we," he added as Jennifer stepped out from behind the pillar to stand beside him. Her head was held high as though she was openly daring the Ardeth to challenge her. He went on, "we followed her."

Ardeth nodded. "We must hurry," he said. "We do not have much time."

* * *

His eyes swept around the temple as he stepped inside, his friends a warm comfort behind him. He saw the knot of women surrounding a wiry looking man who was dressed in long, billowing blue robes; knew them by the wispy veils that flowed like water around them as the servants of Nephthys. They were helping him to rise, worrying at him as one might worry at a lover or friend that had been hurt. His eyes moved on… dismissing them.

He saw Evelyn, crumpled, barely conscious at the base of a pillar. Her clothing, what little was left, was torn and bloodied… though whether with her own blood, or the blood of others, he could not tell. Again, his eyes moved onward… he could not help her.

He saw what looked like a child standing at the foot of the steps to the dais, trembling in rage that he could see was barely contained, she was dividing her attention between a full length mirror that was swirling darkly with the sick power of this place, and the fallen Evelyn. He shook his head… she would have to wait.

He flinched, and almost took a step forward as his eyes came to rest on Meiri, bound and tattered between two pillars at the top of the dais. She was surrounded by a ring of flickering blue fire, and by its light, glowed almost as if with an inner power. He almost sobbed as he tried to turn his eyes away.

"_Not _quite_ as helpless… as you might think," _she said, and his heart almost shattered to hear the tone of overshadowing in her voice… it clenched more tightly in his chest as she breathed a greeting. Even whispered as it was, he knew that all within the temple would have heard it as clearly as he did. "_Osiris…_"

"Oh, Meiri," he closed his eyes for a moment. He was too late… he had come too late to save her from this. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he answered the greeting. "Isis…"

In the corner of his eye he saw movement then… a movement that shattered the delicate moment of balance, as Imhotep, in the thrall of the power of Seth, spun on his heels to face him, and then moved to engage him, swinging a huge gold bladed sword in his direction and crying out in anger. The pommel of the sword shining in obsidian blackness reflected the flickering light of the power that wove and danced overhead, and momentarily he was blinded… immobile…

"Left!" Rashid called out, and obeying the answering call of his muscles, his arms raised his blade to the left to catch the golden sword and defend against the attack. The moment of danger was passed, and returning to himself, focussing on what he knew would be a deadly battle, he let the movement of his friends fade from his consciousness, becoming in himself a single moment in time… a single force in battle against his dark brother Seth as he opened himself to the flow of power inside him that was the echo of Osiris.

* * *

The nine of them gathered protectively around him as he finally caught his breath and rose to his feet. She could feel him, shaking with rage as the unbelievers stepped forward into his temple… _His_ temple…

Miranda could have laughed… it had not been _his_ temple from the moment he'd brought the unholy child, the child she should have given him, back from the hospital… and even less so since he raised the undead priest.

_Poor Miranda… always so used…_

She glanced over at the woman still bound on the dais… what it her voice she just heard…? Did any of the others hear it...?

_...always to open herself, to give to others… to give him a child – murdered at a whim because he saw a better way… tricked into raising the infant Nebkhat as her own…_

Fear was starting to rise inside her. How could anyone know that… how could the woman? If it truly _was_ her voice she heard. She had barely known… had only seen it when the Priest of Osiris had taken her to the mirror and…

"_See for me," he commanded dragging the heel of his palm over her sensitivity as she parted her legs further, in need of his touch. She barely registered the touch of his fingers that grasped her chin and turned her face to bring her fluttering eyes to the Mirror of Nephthys. Her breathing came faster as the power in the mirror spiralled out to meet the heat of his touch and consumed by the darkness they created in the centre of her as the visions overwhelmed her._

…Yes, she had seen his visions… but afterward… trembling and filthy with the pleasure she had taken from it… from him… new visions had come to her and she had understood that she had never been anything but a tool to Ananiah… in spite of all that he had professed to her, she was no more than something to be used and thrown away when he was done. Hadn't the woman said that even now he lied to her, and she would not be the one to carry Apnu, the Divine Child of Death that was the object of all his accursed machinations?

_You suckled her at your breast… you have the power to see this made right. Help them. Help all of them…_ The voice was an uncompromising whisper inside of her. _Help… yourself…_

"Left!"

The cry of alarm made her jump, pulled her back to awareness of her surroundings and certain knowledge, amid the fear that was pounding in her heart that these might well be the last moments of her life. She watched breathlessly as the tattooed man met the attack of the Priest, parried it and began to find a rhythm of his own in their fight. Then she felt the push of Ananiah's hand in the middle of her back, and his command came like a gunshot.

"Fight, my women! Punish the intruders!"

She heard the hiss of eight blades being taken into eight lily white, but she knew, deadly hands. Strangely, her own knife remained still sheathed.

"Kill them all!"

The eight other priestesses of Nephthys started to move past her, toward the warrior's friends, who were already preparing to defend themselves.

_The time is coming when you must choose on what side you will stand._

"Hold!" she cried out, raising her hand to stop the other women. They faltered, uncertain of whether to obey the voice of their Master, or that of their High Priestess.

"Kekham ere!" Screeched Nebkhat, and Miranda knew she was undone. They might disobey their master in her favour, but never the child whom they had been told was a young goddess in their midst… she spun away from the others, drawing her blade at last, parrying the first attack of one of the priestesses that had tried to attack a woman in black, and the man that stood beside her.

"Go to the dais," she hissed back at the couple, pushing at them with her free hand, "save the girl."

She moved with them, intercepting any of the priestess' blades that came their way until they were past the knot of women and heading for deeper within the temple, where the dais rose some ten feet above the main floor. There, with her back to the dais, she fought to give them time… to give them all the time she could…

_The child…_

She turned her head at the urging of the voice in her head to look at Nebkhat, glowering now in rage, her eyes fixed on the swirling darkness within the mirror.

_You suckled her at your breast… you have the power to see this made right…_

She winced as the sharp sting of a blade cut across her arm, turning her attention back to her own fight. The power she might have – though she doubted entirely this unknown inner guidance – but the opportunity evaded her. She pushed hard against her opponent, to free herself from the battle, and then risked another glance toward the child.

The ring of steel against steel startled her, and she almost fell backwards in alarm. Only the firm grasp around her arm prevented that. She followed the arm up to find the brown eyes of the second black robed, tattooed man. _Go to her._ His eyes told her. Had he heard the voice as well?

* * *

"Go to the dais… save the girl!"

Jonathan was still so startled that one of their own people had turned on the cultist that he had to be pushed a second time before he could move. When he did move, he grabbed Jennifer's arm and pulled her around the priestesses, trusting in the other to keep them from pursuit, and headed for the nine stone steps leading up to the top of the dais where Meiri was held captive.

"Come on," he urged Jennifer as he began to scramble, almost on his hands and feet up the steps, not daring to look back in case he should see that they were being followed, or the sight of the battle would crack his resolve..

"Jonathan!"

The scream turned his blood to ice, and then to fire as he turned and saw Jennifer, struggling with the robed priest of Nephthys that had ordered the women to fight. He had her by the hair, her head pulled back to expose her throat, and in his other hand, which Jennifer desperately held away from herself, he had a curved knife.

He launched himself down the steps toward the man just as his knife wielding hand came free of Jennifer's grasp, and began the descent toward her throat. He caught the man's wrist with a strength he did not think he possessed, the knife tip inches from Jennifer's flesh.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" he said, cocking his eyebrow slightly. The man gave a contemptuous laugh, and let go of Jennifer, discarding her as though she were something terrible he had found on the bottom of his shoe.

"As you wish," he said coldly, pulling his hand free of Jonathan's grasp and lowering his frame into a waiting crouch.

Jonathan moved to put himself between Jennifer and the danger, risking a glance behind to make sure that she was all right. She nodded slightly, and he gave her the slightest twitch of a smile.

"Go, free Meiri. I'll take care of this," he told her.

Jennifer got to her feet, but before climbing the steps to do so, she stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on the side of his face, against which he laid his hand for just a moment, before picking up a blade from a nearby fallen priestess and turning to face the priest, who was passing his knife from hand to hand, almost daring Jonathan to strike.

"_Har ya menf…_"

Jonathan shivered as the words came forth from Imhotep, tried not to let his resolve fail as the bodies of the fallen women bubbled and boiled, changing form and rising once more as Seth's Warriors. Leave them to better warriors than he… he had his quarry… the one that had insulted his Jennifer.

His Jennifer…

He liked those words. He liked them very much. He gave the man a cold smile, and launched himself in to attack.

* * *

Catching her completely off guard, Nebkhat turned and struck out wildly with her needle tipped fingers. The tiny steel blades cut deep gashes across Miranda's thighs, and she hissed in pain.

"So it has come to this?" Nebkhat said coldly, circling her.

Miranda turned to keep the child abomination in sight, knowing how deadly those blades could be; not willing to underestimate the young creature for a moment. She defended against the second strike against her, sparks flying from the kiss of needles and blades as they hissed together.

"You brought it to this," she said, "brought it to this with what you became. It cannot continue."

"And you think you can stop it?" the child mocked. "A shrivelled up, dry husk of a woman contend with the will of Nephthys. I think not."

The child struck again, meeting the same parrying blow as Miranda tried to harden herself against the words – words that stung far more than the gash on her leg.

"Will you stand there and deny that you enjoyed whoring for your master? For our cause…?" Nebkhat continued relentlessly. "I know what you have felt, the pleasure you have taken, for I have felt each and every one of your insignificant moments of fulfilment. Felt and taken them for my own… added them to my power; your pain too. I have revelled in it."

"Ungrateful little _bitch!_" Miranda finally snapped and lunged toward the diminutive figure of evil, striking and striking hard… only to be parried and slashed across the forearm, her attack ineffective in the temple to the child's goddess.

"Now we come to it," Nebkhat sighed almost in pleasure…

"I gave you _life._" Miranda spat, "I gave you the strength of my body to let you live--"

"You thought me your own, of _course_ you did."

"Oh, I already _know_ the truth. Do not seek to wound me with it now. Some other woman bore you, and you were brought to me, because then you could be raised as Ananiah wished, well… no more." she lunged again, sending more sparks flying. "No more…! I deny you!"

The child, Nebkhat flew at her… slashing wildly, faster than Miranda could have through possible. Somehow though, she managed to bring her blade between each and every one of the attack… backing up with each step and ignoring the maniacal laughter coming from the abomination before her.

Finally, her back connected with a pillar and she had nowhere else to go. As quickly as she could, she parried another wild strike, but missed the next… the pain of it brought her to her knees. Another painful slash to her already injured arm sent her knife flying into the darkness at the side of the temple.

_Har ya menf…_

Seth-Imhotep's voice cried out into the stillness that had fallen around only Miranda as she thought she faced her death. Nebkhat put back her head, taking delight from the summoning of the warrior kind, her needle tipped fingers but a breath away from Miranda's eyes.

"Turn back, Miranda," Nebkhat said then, almost kindly, gently. "Be the mother you always were to me… and save yourself."

The scrape of needles passed over her cheek… not deep enough to draw blood, but stinging, none the less. The creature's other hand caressed the opposite side of her face, the almost lascivious way the touch crept toward her temple made Miranda shudder. She tried to move her hands, to push the abomination away from her, but some force held her and Nebkhat moved her face only a breath away, her eyes boring into her own.

"Would you like to know what I have seen…? What I would keep from you…?"

Miranda did not have a chance to answer that she did not; that she was not interested in anything this child of lies had to tell her. She found herself falling into the dark pits that were Nebkhat's eyes…

_She rocked back and forth, weeping… wailing in pain… being rocked in the arms of the child… comforted… loved… seeing wildness in her own eyes… She felt as if she had walked into a huge black wall… pulling… pulling at the filthy robe that covered her swollen body… A painted man grabbed her by the hair and threw her… naked and screaming into a pit that crawled with figures… "Give me back my son…!" pain… Hands gripped her shoulders… shook her… "I cannot give you what I do not have…That which has never been mine…"_ _such pain in every part of her…_

"No!" she screamed, and ignoring the blossoming fire in her cheek where the fingertip blades slashed her cheek she pushed at the creature in front of her, sliding round the pillar. "Liar! Queen of lies!" She scrambled backwards… knowing she could not stay… knowing she could not submit to the terrible things this child would bring to her… "_You_ would do this."

It did not register that Nebkhat did not follow… did not attempt to stop her as she reached the doorway and all but crawled, terrified, from the confines of the temple, escaping the darkness and the terrible mixed up vision of her future.

* * *

Why was she lying so still…? Why hadn't she moved…?

Frustrated and with a heart aching from fear of what had happened to her, Rick fought desperately to try and get to his wife's side. If he could reach her then everything would be all right.

He dodged to the side to avoid the strike of a priestess' sharp blade… twisting and trying to catch her hand, to knock the blade from it. He did not see she had another… did not see it moving swiftly toward his belly.

"Dad!" he heard Alex's cry of warning, but could not understand why. His vision of the incoming blade was obscured by robes that would not shield anything of the bite of the knife. All he saw in the next moment was his son, flying toward the woman, launching himself, both feet off the ground, to take her out of his hands, and disappear in a tangle of smoke coloured veils.

"Alex!" he cried out, fearing for his son, "Alex, no!"

But Alex came up out of the bundle of cloth, staring at the knife in his hands… swallowing hard as though to keep himself from vomiting, and Rick understood what had happened. He put his hand onto Alex' shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"It's all right, Alex," he said into the apparent lull in battle.

"She was going to kill you… like Anck-Su-Namun killed mum." Alex said, shaking.

"You acted justly, Alex O'Connell," Rashid said from beside them. "You saved your father and took a pawn of evil from this world."

Rick watched as Alex weighed the words of both of his father and the Medjai second in command, then, with another deep swallow, he nodded and straightened his shoulders, taking in a deep breath.

"_Har ya menf…"_ Seth-Imhotep commanded into the lull and Rick, Alex and Rashid all three backed away from the slain priestess as she, along with her fellows began to bubble and boil within their skin. Their bodies elongated, their heads becoming the hooded, cobra shaped heads of the warriors of Seth, their skin turning as read as though it had been burned by long days under the relentless sun.

"Not these guys again!" Rick grumbled, and hefted his weapon ready for the fight to come.

Slowly the warriors of Seth got to their feet, ripping the tatters of their veils from their bodies, and picking up their weapons. Naked, but for the scraps of cloth around their middles that hung to shield their modesty, they turned to face the three people not already engaged in battle…

"Oh-kay…" Rick said slowly, glancing to Alex and taking a slow step backwards, "You know, normally, I'd be telling you to cover your eyes, but under the circumstances--"

…the snake headed warriors gave a hissing roar in unison, and all eight began to advance toward them.

"Under the circumstances, I believe your son would fight more effectively with his eyes open," Rashid said urgently, also backing away a little. "And I would say we need all the warriors we can muster."

"I'll be too busy dodging their blades to actually _look_ at anything… rude." Alex assured him, taking a step backwards at his side.

None of them had time to say anything else, for at that moment, the eight supernatural warriors launched themselves toward the three of them.

Rick ducked as three blades came at his head all at once; the warriors bent on nothing more than eliminating those that opposed their master's will. Rashid, he saw, fared a little better managing, with the skill of one used to fighting with a blade, to meet the incoming attacks and defend against them. Alex was using his speed and agility to dodge around the warriors, never in the same place for more than a few seconds so that by the time they turned to find him, he was once more in a different place.

"Atta-boy, Alex!" he mumbled under his breath, shaking from the impact of parrying a swing that was aimed for his legs and turning to avoid another. As he turned he saw the turncoat priestess flee in panic from the demon-child and watched in horror as Nebkhat threw back her head, laughed and then moved towards Evelyn.

The danger to his wife lent him strength… he couldn't lose her again, he _couldn't_ and these creatures were not going to get in the way of him saving Evy. He swung his blade wildly toward the nearest creature, twisting away from another that scraped against his hip, but was pinned down and could not break through. Frantically he turned first one way, and then another, trying to see something that might be able to help… to save Evy.

Keeping his arms moving wildly, parrying and dodging blow after blow, he watched as Jonathan fought a battle of his own. His brother-in-law's knife parried and attacked, and parried again.

"Jonathan!" he yelled across the temple to Evy's brother.

"Hang on, Rick," Jonathan called back. "I'm coming."

"No," he screamed, pushing against a blade that was locked with his, the lower half of him making an almost independent step to the side to avoid another sweeping cut. "Evy! Help Evy!"

He could not see if Jonathan had understood him, because the warriors overwhelmed him, blades flying at him from all sides and he was forced to throw himself backwards or be cut down. He rolled as he hit the floor, dodged around a pillar as they came after him, still trying to reach Evelyn.

And then he skidded to a halt…

"No," he breathed, and watched in horror as the child abomination stood over his wife's immobile body, arms raised, her lips moving in some arcane prayer… and from the mirror a dark energy leaped, passing through the girl, and settling inside of his beloved wife. "Evy, no!"

Slowly, she rose to her feet… Her flesh was pale, her unkempt brown hair now crackled with dark energy and flew around her head as though it were some terrible anti-halo and her eyes burned with an angry hate.

"_Evy_…" she said, in a terrifying, cold voice, in total agreement with Rick. "_No_."

The snake headed warriors all paused in their attack on the others and threw back their hooded heads to hiss in praise of the risen goddess.

_Nephthys…_

* * *

"Go, free Meiri," he told her as she let go of his arm, still smiling at her kiss, "I'll take care of this."

She nodded, and without another thought, she turned and raced up the nine steps toward the ring of fire at the top of the steps… on the ninth, she faltered, fearing the flames.

"_Come, you're safe,_" the woman at the centre of the fire told her gently, "_they will not harm those with a pure heart._"

Taking a deep breath, Jennifer ran forward, through the flickering blue flames. As the woman had said they did not burn her. It was as though she had passed through a cool breeze to the warmth of love within.

"Meiri," she greeted the other woman.

"_There is a knife of the altar beside the mirror, bring it and cut my bonds… There is so much wrong here, and I can do nothing, bound as I am._"

Jennifer regarded her for a moment, seeing the woman behind the power that had her… and looking into her eyes she understood all that she had sacrificed to come to this point in time and take into herself the Goddess for whom she had been marked. She understood it as though it were a part of herself and her heart twisted; tears came to her eyes.

"_Do not grieve for Me, Jennifer,_" Isis-Meiri said softly, reaching toward her with a bound hand that could not touch her, "_for it is only by letting go of our fears and our desires that we can achieve that which our souls truly need. Cut Me free. Let Me fulfil my purpose here._

Nodding, still weeping, Jennifer ran the few steps to the altar and picked up the knife to bring it back and cut the bonds that held Meiri bound by sacred spells to the pillars. She slipped her hands under her elbows to help the goddess-overshadowed woman to her feet, and to help her take her first few faltering steps.

* * *

Waiting whilst her strength returned, Isis-Meiri looked out over the chaos of the manifold battle below. She grieved for the souls of the women, lost now that their bodies had become tools of Seth… She had been too late to prevent it and now they would wander the Plains of the Tormented… locked in pain and terror until this could all be brought to reckoning. She sighed. That would not be this day.

She turned a little to face the one whom she had but the slight chance of helping… of saving… if only she would save herself. She shared the terrible visions, distorted truths that Nebkhat thrust into the woman's uncomprehending and fearful mind.

_The woman rocked back and forth, weeping, wailing in pain… The image melted to show her being rocked in the arms of the child, comforted and loved until she was pulled outside of her self and could see the wildness in her own eyes… The woman walked into a huge black-robed man… then she was pulling… pulling at the filthy robe that covered her swollen body… A painted man grabbed her by the hair and threw her… naked and screaming into a pit that crawled with figures… "Give me back my son…!" pain… Hands gripped her shoulders… shook her… "I cannot give you what I do not have…That which has never been mine…"_ _such pain in every part of her…_

She could see the fear the images made, felt the mistaken understanding and tried desperately to reach the mind of the only one that could save them all from the future that was being woven for them all.

"_Do not run…_" she urged her, but the woman scrambled backward… far too gripped in the thrall and fear of the darkness thrust at her to be able to hear her gentle voice from so far away. "_Oh Miranda…If only you had chosen another path…_"

Isis-Meiri took a deep breath, and moved away from the supportive touch of Jennifer's hands, moving to stand at the top of the steps, having only one choice left.

* * *

It was a battle like no other he had ever fought, even the last time he had crossed blades with Imhotep, possessed as he then was by the god Seth… as he was now, had been nothing near as filled with hate and rage as that which he now faced.

His arms ached and he was bloodied and in pain from the many strikes he had taken, the blows he had failed to counter, and the ones that he had deliberately let through in order to score more serious strikes of his own.

Osiris-Ardeth pushed against their locked blades, pushing Seth-Imhotep backwards, taking a moment to breathe before he moved in again, attacking left and right, his blades sweeping and dancing in breathtaking circles around his body, sending hot sparks flying as they connected with their opposites. He came to one knee, aiming low and then was forced to angle both blades up over his head, behind himself as Seth-Imhotep anticipated the attack he made and had leaped high, over him and from behind came at him again. Still on his knees he spun around, keeping his blades moving getting first one, and then the other foot underneath him, bringing his attacks higher and higher as he stood.

And then he was on the defensive… some small slip, some misjudged moment in the battle gave Seth-Imhotep the advantage and he fought to move his blades in time to counter the strikes coming at him from all side. Random and chaotic, there was no pattern to where the next stroke would fall. Instinct alone kept him from being chopped into pieces where he stood, moving his arms to just the right place to defend against attack after attack.

"Evy, no!"

The desperation in his friend's voice cut into his concentration and missing a single strike his blades once more became locked with those of the evil he fought. They struggled with each other… circling and pulling at their trapped blades, until a chilling hiss made all the hairs along his back stand up and his limbs heavy with weakness.

_Nephthys_

Seth-Imhotep hissed in triumph at the manifestation of his divine wife. "_Yes, my love… my wife…!_"

He fixed his eyes on Osiris-Ardeth's gloating, the certainty of his own victory was clear to see for it was written on every pore of his face, but behind him, at the top of the dais, Ardeth had seen what he had not, and even as the heart of the man twisted inside to see the woman he loved, so subsumed by her goddess that she was as unreachable to him as the morning sunrise, the force of the god within exalted in her love for him, and he knew at once what he must do. Feigning weakness, he let his knees sag a little, bending his arms…

Seth-Imhotep responded at once, bending his own knees and raising his foot to Osiris-Ardeth's stomach he began to let himself fall backwards, meaning to bring his opponent over him, and gain the advantage of time while the fallen warrior caught his breath, but Osiris-Ardeth had anticipated the sacrificial gambit, had intended it, and added to the momentum with a strong push from his bent knees. At the top of the curve made by the movement he let go of both of the hilts of his blades, sacrificing his weapons for the freedom lent to him by such a move, and even as he flew through the air reached behind him for the curved dagger sheathed against his back.

He landed hard, the impact forcing him to one knee. He made himself still, against every instinct that was screaming at him to turn… turn and face his nemesis that was rushing toward him… scrambling toward him almost roaring in triumph. Not until he could feel Seth-Imhotep's breath on the back of his neck did he move, throwing himself backwards in a jarring, painful impact that made his muscles scream in protest. He reached over himself to grasp Seth-Imhotep around the shoulders and bodily haul himself over the man-god until he was behind him again… until he could punch forward, the hand holding his one weapon leading.

"Once again, my _brother_," he said, gasping for the breath so long denied his tortured body, "the nature and the power of sacrifice evades you."

* * *

In the silence that followed, and before they could begin to move again, Isis-Meiri swept her hand in an arch of power that flowed from her fingers and banished the snake headed warriors, turning them to dust that blew away in the breeze of energy across the temple floor.

Nephthys-Evy cried out in rage, and with hardly a pause to discover what fate would be, in the wake of Imhotep's death, and her husband's banishment, she practically flew up the steps toward Isis-Meiri.

But not so, banished…

Jonathan moaned in mounting terror as he felt the whispers start to gather in his mind… another moan, this time of denial, and he turned away from the priest he had been fighting, before terror had stupefied the man as he had seen his goddess made truly manifest in Evy.

Evy…

Trembling, Jonathan turned his face upward, to look toward the top of the dais, where the two women were now locked into a deadly struggle.

_Go to her… help her…_

"No," he growled, shaking his head at the ugly hateful feeling flooding him… at the desire to mount the steps and tear Meiri's small frame apart with his bare hands. "_How _dare _you?_"

* * *

The voice that issued from Jonathan's lips stopped Ardeth in his tracks. He trembled, torn between promises… torn between love and duty…

"_I swear to you I will not let it happen. I will not let you suffer that again."_

Another step took him closer to the Englishman, sweeping up one of his scimitars as he went. If Jonathan could not find a way to fight the intrusion; to fight once more becoming possessed by the Seth then he would make it swift and clean, before the evil god could gain a firmer hold over his friend.

* * *

Jonathan whimpered, and growled again, shaking his head, trying to push away the red mist that was growing in his body… that was forcing its way into his heart.

_Foolish… weak… mortals… Did they truly think they could prevail against the very gods themselves…? There is _no_ power greater than our own…_

"Jonathan…!"

The terrified scream as she fell from the dais cut through everything… through the rage, through the mocking voice of the god inside of him… right through to the point of silence within his heart, the light, weightless space wherein dwelled the man he truly was.

* * *

Jennifer struggled to her feet, limping, sore and bruised from the fall, but knowing that she had to get to him… to keep him from giving in to the evil – yes, she admitted it – the evil that was trying to take over… make him do all those terrible things he said he had done before… could do again.

She was weeping by the time she reached him… to think that he had suffered all of that before… the endless self hatred, the fear of what he could do. The murder of his friend…

"Oh Jonathan…" she took his hands and shook them until he looked at her. "This isn't who you are… I _know_ you… I know the gentle soul you are."

He looked up past her shoulder and turning she followed the direction of his gaze to the ruined body of the long dead priest Imhotep, and the amulet that hung around his neck. This, she understood, was the focus of his fear… and of the evil that played inside of him, around the edges of his consciousness. Without another word she let go of his hands and went to lift the necklace from the ruined mummy.

"Jenny…" he moaned fearfully, and took a step forward, almost impaling himself against the scimitar that the Medjai chieftain held against his chest. "Can't you feel the power in it… it's so much… so…"

"Beautiful…?" she asked, holding it out to him.

"Yes," he whispered… and moaned as Ardeth began to flex his muscles and the scimitar bit deeper, even as he reached for the amulet, "but no…" Tears began to flow from his eyes. "You. You are what's beautiful. I love you, Jenny. I need you so much, but I don't think I can… I can…" he told her trailing off.

She smiled at him, understanding that what Isis had given her in a few mere words was a gift greater than any she had ever been given. "It is only by letting go of our fears and our desires that we can achieve that which our souls truly need," she told him softly. She had the means to heal him… here… standing beside the narrow pit that encircled the temple from the foot of the dais all the way to the door… she truly could help him now. All he had to do was…

* * *

Trembling, sweat standing out on his brow with the effort of it, Jonathan reached out with his hands toward the amulet that Jennifer held on the palm of her hand.

He ignored everything… the bite of the blade against his chest, the hissing angry voice inside his head, the sound of battle from the two goddesses still raging overhead, the fear, the dread, the desire, the sick weary pleasure he felt… all of it. He looked only into Jennifer's gentle, smiling eyes.

His fingers brushed the dark gold of the amulet, and he almost grasped the artefact to put it on over his head, a jolt of the power of chaos and evil sweeping over him… but her eyes… he couldn't disappoint her… he took his fingers away for a heartbeat, before reaching out again, this time past the necklace sitting in the palm of her hand to close around her wrist.

And slowly… terribly slowly, he turned her hand… watching as the amulet fell away, to be swallowed by oblivion.

He sighed, and sagged as all the energy went from him, felt himself caught in strong arms that lowered him carefully to the temple floor…

* * *

"Rest, Jonathan," Ardeth breathed. "It is over…"

"Yes…" his friend whispered, on the edge of an exhausted sleep as the woman of his heart came to cradle his head in her lap. "Over…"

Ardeth glanced at O'Connell, at the look on his face that mirrored the fear in the Medjai's heart for the two fighting on the top of the dais. To intervene would be to risk hurting them both, but to allow the fight to continue… to allow the two goddesses to act on their distrust and hatred of one another was to risk the death, either of Evelyn, or of Meirionnydd.

Caught by the same indecision that gripped O'Connell and the others, he remained at the foot of the steps, tense with anguish, not knowing what to do.

* * *

Nephthys-Evy swung the three-pronged blade viciously at Isis-Meiri. She barely had time to move and catch the blade on the ceremonial dagger that was the only weapon she had to hand and then the two of them were circling again, Nephthys waiting for the moment to strike against her sister.

"_This is not what is truly in the desire of your heart to do,_" Isis-Meiri said. "_You are sister to me… love and helpmate…_" her voice became harder then, with an edge and a sadness that gave life to the love she had for her sister. "_I raised your son and kept him hidden from a husband that would have slaughtered him in his sleep and vanquished you for the betrayal you wrought against him with my husband – our brother._"

"_You took him from me…_" Nephthys-Evy accused.

Isis-Meiri shook her head. "_You came to me and begged me for my help, Nephthys… you prostrated yourself before me in admitting that _you_ had stolen from _me_ that which should have been mine. Taken the seed of my love and given to it life in my place._"

"_I defied my husband and helped you raise yours from the dark sleep of death that you could conceive your own son._" Nephthys-Evy took another swing toward Isis-Meiri, which she caught on the leather bracer she wore on her left wrist, crying out a little as the blade slipped and grazed along her arm. "_For that I was banished from his side… from his sight to live forever in your shadow… away from his love!_"

She launched herself at Isis-Meiri again, and the other woman was forced not only to defend herself, but to fight back to put space between the two of them… striking first at one arm, then at the other side of her, trying not to cause a lasting harm… trying not to cause injury between them that could not be healed.

"_This is not the way to redeem that love, my sister,_" she appealed desperately to Nephthys-Evy. "_This is the whip of jealousy that guides you. A jealous heart cannot _know_ love._"

"_Fine words…_" Nephthys-Evy spat back, "_…from one that enjoyed a husband's love--_"

"_You forget… my sister…_" Isis-Meiri said as the two sprang away from each other again. "_I lived… without… a husband's love… through all the ages… I and those that followed me._" She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed out, yielding as Nephthys-Evy stepped up, pushing her backwards against the stone altar. "_So be it,_" she said at last, sadly and without malice the words came like music from her lips, "_If it is truly your will to do so, my beloved sister. Vanquish me, and take my place. Bring your world to be… with all its pain… and fear… and hate… and sorrow… and death…_"

Slowly she spread her arms to the sides, making of herself the perfect willing sacrifice as she continued to name all the sadness in the world of men… and Nephthys-Evy raised her hand to strike.

* * *

"Meiri!" Ardeth gasped, and started up the stairs.

"Evy, no!" Rick called, and then seeing Ardeth, knowing he meant to intervene and fearing what that intervention might bring, he cried, "Ardeth!"

Without thinking, he lunged at his Medjai friend and tackled him side on, bringing the two of them tumbling down the stairs, to wrestle at the foot of the stairs, each trying to achieve freedom.

* * *

"Mum!" Alex yelled, and tried to scramble up the stairs to go to her… to stop her from doing this terrible thing that she was about to do. Strong arms closed around him as Rashid pulled him back.

"No, Alex," he said urgently, "If you go up there you could make things worse than they already are."

"But… but… but…" Alex stuttered, still struggling with the Medjai.

"We must trust. We have no choice."

"But if Mum hurts her, she'll never _forgive_ herself," he said, but even as he spoke he began to struggle less.

* * *

Rick threw a solid roundhouse punch at Ardeth's cheek, he felt it connect, saw the man go down but he did not stay down… he came up a moment later, head leading, running into Rick's belly like a battering ram. Winded, but not giving ground, Rick smashed his forearms down one each side of Ardeth's neck, and then at either side of his ribs, trying to make the Medjai let go the strangle hold he had around his belly.

* * *

"_So already it begins..._" Isis-Meiri said sadly, "_Friend against friend… brother against brother…_" Nephthys-Evy had faltered, and so she rose from the altar top, still with her arms wide, still inviting the deadly strike from her sister's blade. "_Sister against sister… What will come next, Nephthys? What more would you have us do in your name…?_"

Blinded by tears, and trembling from the tangle of emotion that was empowering the hate she felt, that was echoed in the bright web of it that was visible in the red crackle of energy around the temple, Nephthys-Evy drew back her hand again, and with a terrifying scream of rage she struck… in just the moment that Isis-Meiri stepped forward… into her sister's anger.

* * *

"Evelyn…!" Rick cried out in disbelief of what he was seeing, and forgetting his fight with Ardeth, tried to scramble up the stairs, to stop her. He felt the Medjai almost at his side rather than saw him.

Before he could even clear the second step, two sets of strong arms closed around his own arms, dragging him back, restraining him, no matter how hard he struggled.

"Let me go!" he yelled. "Let. Me. Go…!"

* * *

"Wait!" Rashid caught hold of Ardeth's arm and urgently held him back. "Wait… there is more to this than we know…"

"_Oh, Nephthys…_" Isis-Meiri breathed, "_I know what it is you have done… and as I have forgiven him, how could I not forgive you? My sister… my beloved… sister…_"

As the whispered words began to fade, Isis-Meiri embraced her sister, kissing first one cheek, and then the other...

Forgiveness and love… the two sides of the triangle that was compassion.

And then both women sank to the top of the dais, Evelyn toppling from Meiri's arms and beginning to tumble, almost in slow motion, down the steps to the temple floor.

* * *

Rick struggled free, threatening the Medjai with everything he could possibly think of until he was sure they were not going to come after him, and then turned to catch his tumbling wife before she hit the temple floor.

"Evelyn…" he gasped, cradling her in his arms… "Evy… Evy no…!"

"Mum!" Alex screamed, and it was not more than a heartbeat before their son was at his side. "She's going to be all right… isn't she Dad?"

For a moment, a long, drawn out moment, there was silence. How did he answer his son… what could he say…? "I… I don't--"

"Rick…" a faint whisper of a voice filtered through into his conscious mind and looking down he saw Evy's eyes flutter open. "Alex… Rick," she said, "I've been so sad… so lost I--"

"Oh, Evy… God, Evy I love you so much…" he told her, holding her close and rocking her in his arms. "It's going to be all right. I promise. Everything will be all right…"

* * *

"Meiri…" All the breath came out of Ardeth and his knees would no longer support him as she sank to the top of the dais. He couldn't see her… he didn't know, but feared what had happened and didn't have the strength to reach her… to take her in his arms as O'Connell had his wife. To tell her that everything was going to be all right… "Meirionnydd… why?"

* * *

Ignoring the pain in her side, Meiri pushed herself to her knees, supporting herself with one hand, and swallowing the cry as she pulled out the knife. The wound had missed anything vital, she knew… painful, but still dangerous in that she might lose too much blood. She still had so much to do. Somehow, she managed to get her feet under her, staggered from side to side down the steps, exhausted and bleeding.

At the foot of the stairs, she stumbled… falling to her knees again… pushing once again to rise. She felt his strength even before she saw him… felt his arms close around her… help to draw her to her feet.

"Meirionnydd--?" he breathed in question.

"Ardeth…" she answered, leaning against him for just a moment before she pulled away from him. The most painful thing she had ever done, because she doubted she could ever again bridge the gap that lay between them. Instead, she walked away… walked toward the edge of the pit where the sistrum still teetered between the world of men, and oblivion. Much as she wanted to just tip the balance and let it fall, it was the only thing that bore the power to do that which she must do… it was their only safeguard against the gods of the old world waging their wars here in the new. With a heavy heart, she picked up the sistrum of Usert, and started back toward the dais where, at the top, an angry whirlwind of raw, untamed hatred waited to be banished back into the dark mirror, from whence it had come…

Turning her back, and looking away, closing her eyes she raised the sistrum…

"I have come to thee quickly, and I have driven back the footsteps of Our Brother whose face is hidden. I have illumined His sanctuary. I stand near on the day of repelling disaster. I watch to protect thee, oh my children… Oh Egypt…"

…and brought it down and back against the dark glass of the mirror.

The mirror cracked… a slow crack running from top to bottom, and from side to side, and then with a cry as though from the lips of a million tormented souls it shattered, flying apart to the four winds.

Meiri echoed the scream, lifted as she was by the rush of retributive power, to dangle high above the temple… high above those below… powerless to help her. Demons of each of those sorrows named by Isis through her lips passed through her body, stinging her soul before being sucked back through the void beyond the mirror's frame. She was spun first one way, and then another, weeping for all the sorrows in the world.

And then it was gone… the power and energy that held her aloft was pulled in after all the other ills in the world and she fell to the top of the dais, jolting her feet, even as she tried to remain standing… she fell to her knees, crying out from the sheer terror of the moment, words that were echoing in her heart.

"_Cursed be those who know such sorrows as I have seen and still act in evil!_"

Sobbing, she opened her eyes and looked down on the witnesses to the words of power she had made manifest in the world… and still overshadowed by the fading, but still lingering touch of Isis, she saw the bright threads connecting those of her friends with their loved ones. She saw the web that connected Evelyn and Rick with their son, Alex and their daughter, Nebkhat, who was still held captive, struggling against the two Medjai that held her.

"She is not lost to you, Evelyn… only unknown," she said softly, meeting the other woman's brown eyes sadly.

"My baby," Evy sobbed.

"In time…"

Meiri turned her head then finding the newly formed web of connection between Jonathan and Jennifer in their new found love and a faint smile found its way to her face. Some good then, had come of this, and then she turned her head again, finding a thread leading from Rashid, between him and--

Pain blossomed in her belly… and she toppled forwards, crying out from it. She did not make contact with the floor. Warm soft arms closed around her… cradling her gently, trying to shield her from everything.

"Meiri," Ardeth whispered, running his hand through her hair, "What can I do?"

"Nebkhat," she gasped, gripping his arm tightly and squeezing against the pain. "She knows… let her go… let her come to me…"

"Let the girl go!" he commanded.

* * *

Nebkhat trembled as she mounted the steps of the dais, her tiny legs carrying her closer and closer to the one that had shown her who she truly was… and who had laid a curse on anyone that dared do harm in the knowledge of her sorrow and suffering. Reaching them at last… Isis and her Osiris… the Usertim woman and her Medjai… she knelt at their side and reached to gently take the sistrum from the ailing woman's hands.

"She struggles," she said, laying her free hand over Meiri's belly, "Pulled by the touch of the lady you serve."

"Do it," Meiri gasped. "I will find a way to keep the pieces safe."

"We will," the Medjai corrected her, leaning down with a very worried frown. "We will keep the pieces of it safe." Then he asked, "Why did you not tell me?"

The woman, Meirionnydd just lay back against him, consumed by the pain as the child within her struggled for life. "I would not lay waste to all that you tried to do… I would not harm our people by it," she whispered.

"Meiri…" he said as though to argue.

"No, Ardeth… Enough. You know it is true." She squeezed his hand again whimpering, casting a pleading look at Nebkhat. "You must," she said, "Please…"

Nebkhat nodded… and in a movement that startled everyone she raised the sistrum, and brought it down hard against the stone of the dais. Bells sounded in protests… screaming aloud in the grief of destruction… echoing around the temple and amplified… echoing from the four walls of the room… and dying away into silence.

* * *

Into the silence that followed came the small, hiccupping sob of a toddler, crying for her mother. Evelyn crawled on all fours to the top of the steps, to the small bundle beside where Ardeth cradled his unconscious wife against his chest.

The bundle stirred, and sobbed again, and Evelyn wrapped herself around the child. "Oh Kat… my baby… my baby…" She rocked her in her arms, weeping for all the years they had lost.

* * *

Ardeth dropped his hand onto his cousin's shoulder in silent thanks, and rising to his feet, left the tent. He wanted to stay with her, to watch over her as she slept in healing. Ayesha had told him the child was safe, and that Meiri would recover given time to rest. To a Medjai warrior that was as clear a dismissal as any that could come, and so with a sigh he went to deal with the other matter still hanging over his head.

He did not have to go far…

In fact, only a few steps outside of his home, it met him head on, as Mohammed, several others of the elders and… he frowned as he recognised the commanders of several of the twelve tribes at Mohammed's shoulder.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded angrily.

"We are worried, First Medjai," Mohammed said smoothly, "You are too close to these people to give an impartial judgement against them."

"The judgement I have given is fair, Honoured Elder," he said sarcastically. "These people have suffered much and have often helped the Medjai in their endeavours."

"Only to right wrongs that _they_ have caused," argued the commander of Third Tribe. "Let us not forget that it was the woman that first awakened the creature."

"Tazim," he said patiently, "I know you to be a wise and sober warrior, but I do not think you understand what it is you are doing here… whose agenda it is that you and your fellow commanders further by speaking here against me." He felt Rashid move to stand at his back, supportive and silent.

"It is not a matter of agenda, First Medjai," said Dajid, Commander of Fifth tribe. "That you think so further proves to me that your judgement is clouded."

"And you all feel this way?" he asked, astonishment and worry mixing and bringing a knot to his stomach.

"We expect you to prove otherwise, Ardeth," Mohammed purred. "Submit to the judgement we gave to you in council. This woman murdered seven Medjai warriors… it is not only _our_ judgement, but the judgement of our tradition we ask you to uphold. It is your duty as First Medjai to do so. If you cannot – then I for one… my fellow elders here and these several commanders call to question your ability to keep your oath as First Medjai to protect the Twelve Tribes."

Ardeth took a deep breath. There it was… the challenge clearly laid before him. Accept their judgement on Evelyn, or they would remove him as First Medjai. The council of elders would rule in his place until Suhayl came of age. The Medjai would be lost… in order to fulfil his oath to protect the Twelve Tribes, he had to sacrifice his friend.

_That was always your problem, brother. You never did understand the nature of sacrifice._

The words echoed around his mind for many long moments as he sought to still the frantic, angry beating of his heart… to find that resolve within himself. Finally, he closed his eyes, sighed, and nodded.

"At dawn then," he snapped.

"It will be done?" Mohammed asked.

"_I_ will do it," he corrected and then turned and stormed over to Marhana, mounted up, and rode out into the twilight.

* * *

They dragged him… bound and held between two of their strongest warriors to the ceremonial square at the centre of the Oasis. Even so he fought them with every ounce of his being as they brought him to where they held his family.

Rick could not believe that Ardeth would let this happen… execution…? When she had been so clearly under the thrall of powers summoned by the cult of Nephthys?

"Evy…!" he called to her as they brought her from where they had kept her.

"Rick…!" she sobbed, and for a moment struggled with the Medjai either side of her as they forced her to her knees.

He struggled again, more wildly than before. This could not be happening. It was all some kind of terrible dream and any moment now he would wake, it would be morning and he would get up and go to breakfast with his friends… forgiven, just as Ardeth had forgiven Jonathan.

The first light of the sun began to peek over the horizon, and still he had not woken, as Ardeth stepped out onto the ceremonial ground, carrying in his hand the largest blade that Rick thought he had ever seen. It was clearly heavy in the Medjai's hands.

He came to stand beside Evelyn.

"This woman has been found to be guilty of the murder of not one, but seven Medjai warriors," he said harshly. "The ruling of the Council of Elders against her was unanimous, and their verdict was given. I am here to act upon that verdict. Evelyn O'Connell… have you anything to say before I carry out my duty as First Medjai?"

"Ardeth, please…" she sobbed as they pushed her head down and her hair fell forward to cover her face.

Unmoved by her pleas, Ardeth Bay raised the blade to rest against the back of her neck… lifting it a little.

"Ardeth, no," Rick whined, his voice cracked in an agony of tears, "For the love of God!"

"May Allah, in His infinite wisdom…" Ardeth began hollowly as twelve figures moved from the crowd. His voice hardened then, as his Chosen moved between him and the knot of Elders and Commanders that stood together to witness the judgement, "…forgive those faithless among us who believe that by doing more evil, we undo the evil deeds already in our past!" He flung the heavy blade to the side, away from the onlookers. "I will shed _no_ more blood."

Rick all but fell forward in relief. "Oh God!"

* * *

"There is one among us," Ardeth continued as he helped Evelyn to her feet and took a knife to cut the rope that bound her hands behind her back, "who would lead us all to ruin and destruction. To shed blood that is no more guilty of harm than _any_ of us? Is that what you would have the Medjai become?"

He watched as some of the commanders shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of their First Medjai, and the twelve of his Chosen Warriors.

"You accuse me of being unable to fulfil my oaths as First Medjai and to protect the Twelve Tribes… and yet, I say to you, all of you here…" he opened his arms to include the gathered Medjai as well as the commanders, "all of you, that in listening to the ambitious words of a single snake… in ignoring the voice of your conscience, the angel of the heart that guides us in right conduct… helps us as we strive to fulfil our oaths as warriors for God… as Medjai… then _all_ of us fail; all of us are oath breakers.

"I. Refuse. To listen," he said, pointing in the general direction of the elders, "to the snake that guides with the voice of ambition alone. I embrace my own responsibility, and fulfil my oaths…

"…That I shall protect and cherish my Brother Warriors and their sons, and the wives and daughters of my people. That I shall use my strength and honour as a Medjai warrior to defend those weaker than myself…" he paused to let his words sink in, before he continued, "And yet I _do_ understand that a crime has been committed here, and that the Medjai are the voice of the Law in the desert… and that as First Medjai I have sworn an oath to protect not only the Twelve Tribes, but all my warrior brothers as I am best able… and so…" he swung around to face the O'Connells, taking another deep breath, for his next words pained him greatly, "Evelyn O'Connell, for crimes against my fellow Medjai, as the voice of Law, I hereby banish, on pain of death, should you return, you and all your kin for generations into eternity from the Land of Egypt and the great SaHra." He swallowed hard. "You will leave this place, never to return."

Evelyn sobbed again, and sagged against her husband. He turned back to the elders and his Medjai commanders. "And if you cannot accept that this is done in best fulfilment of all the oaths of office that I hold, then I will happily, gladly," he added darkly, "Find replacements among your warriors who can, and will, lead your tribes more wisely."

To his great relief, not a man among them moved.

* * *

Their hearts were heavy as they stood on the dock at Alexandria, watching as their many bags were loaded aboard the ship that would take them from Egypt for the last time. Heaviest of all was Ardeth's heart, at the losses and the sacrifices he was making to keep his friends, his Tribes and all of Egypt as safe as he possibly could against the events that had befallen them all.

"Jonathan," he said quietly to the wiry little man. "I promise I shall keep her safe, and send her safely home to you when her job is finished."

Jonathan nodded, embracing Jennifer one more time before she went to stand beside the Medjai leader. Ardeth had granted her leave to stay with his people and write the report that the board of directors at the Museum of Cairo had demanded. She would write the report, and then travel to meet up with Jonathan and the O'Connells in London.

"Perhaps you could come with her," Jonathan suggested, evidently seeing the haunted look in Ardeth's eyes, "for a visit…"

"Perhaps," Ardeth conceded, though he doubted it would happen. He moved along the line of friends, offering his hand to Alex, and clasping the boys arm in a strong grip of would-be brotherhood. "You would have made a fine Medjai, my friend."

"I would have been honoured," Alex answered quietly.

Once again, Ardeth moved down the line, to stand facing Evelyn, and for a moment, words failed him. She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, and handed Katharine – for so they had decided to call the daughter with whom they had been reunited – into her brothers arms, and then equally as awkwardly, she stepped forward to plant a swift kiss on the side of Ardeth's cheek and then to hug him fiercely.

"I understand," she told him. "And you're probably right… it's probably for the best."

At this he shook his head. "To be parted from true friends…?" he said, taking another step to the side to face her husband, leaving Evelyn with the question. "Forgive me, O'Connell," he asked, tears coming to his eyes.

Pursing his lips and fighting tears of his own O'Connell nodded and took a deep breath. "You did what you had to do," he said.

"I had to be convincing… to make my point," Ardeth's voice cracked a little. "And in that I hurt you."

O'Connell shook his head. "You saved her. You saved all of us. That… I'll never forget that."

"And I will never forget you… my friend…" he held out his hand again, and when O'Connell took his forearm in his own strong hand, exchanged one last time, a warriors clasp with a brother he would never see again. "Rick," he said… his voice a sigh.

He stepped back as the cry came from the purser, summoning all who were sailing to board the ship.

He was still standing on the dockside, staring out into the ocean as darkness fell.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Meiri opened her eyes as Rashid quietly entered the room in which she rested. He knelt beside her bed and took hold of her hand. She squeezed his fingers lightly.

"What happens now?" he asked her quietly.

"When I am recovered, I will go back to my… home," her voice caught on the word. "And I shall live there… with my daughter."

"Meiri…" he started to tell her to stay.

"I cannot, Rashid. More now than ever I cannot stay here. Ardeth has a life to live… a life to build with a woman that does not wish to be with him. If I were here I would only be in the way of that, and I cannot do that to him… or to Ashna," she sighed, "God knows that it will be hard enough for her as it is."

"But your love--"

"The love I shared with Ardeth is gone, Rashid. Now that he has seen me as Isis it will _never_ be the same between us. I could not bear for him to love me with the reverence of a goddess… I need to be loved as a woman." She broke down then, and in spite of everything clung to him as he lifted her gently into his arms.

"You underestimate him, Meiri," he said, but she shook her head.

"I _see_ the future, Rashid. I see it, and I fear what is to come."

"You see _one_ future," he argued. "for only the journey is written, not the destination."

She sighed, and let him settle her back against the pillows. She shook her head again, after a long time of silence and said. "No… I must return to my home. Whatever comes from that point on…" she shrugged tearfully, "…it comes. Only promise me that you will watch for him."

"Always," he told her, merely breathing out the word.

Then remembering something she had seen she continued, "And perhaps, when they are old enough, my son and your daught--"

"No," he said quickly… too quickly.

Meiri nodded to herself and after a moment asked, "Are you going to tell him?"

Rashid shook his head. "I have carried this secret in my heart for almost thirty years, Meiri. It will not hurt to keep it a little longer."

"But… you signed at his marriage to Ashna… if the truth were ever uncovered--"

"All the more reason to keep it to myself," he said, his smile a sad one. Then he tapped the end of her nose. "You need to rest, and I am disturbing that in worrying you with all of this." She shook her head, but even so he rose to his feet. "I will come and see you tomorrow."

* * *

They called for him urgently even as he left the tent where Meiri rested, and he turned in the direction of the call, squinting into the sun.

For a moment he was blinded, and then a figure on horseback came into view… no… not one figure, but two… and both of them familiar to him, cradling a smaller third figure between them both. He could have fallen to his knees and praised Allah for showing him such riches.

* * *

She drew the horse to a halt and looked down on the husband she loved… and whom she knew, in that moment more than any other, loved her dearly.

"Well," she teased, "are you going to welcome us home?"

Laughing happily, he reached up and lifted Aria down from where she had ridden behind Ghayda, holding her close. Ghayda smiled to see it, and dismounted before reaching up to help Husayn down.

"Baba!" the boy cried out, and threw himself toward Rashid.

Rashid caught him up one handed and held him close before handing him to Aria, and holding out his free hand to Ghayda.

Smiling, she came to fit herself in to his side… sighing contentedly… her family united as one.

_Fin_


End file.
